Fool Me Once
by PokeyDotes
Summary: What do you do when you learn someone's made it their sole purpose to cause you pain? Rated for later chapters, Team fic.
1. Can you see me?

Title: Fool Me Once…  
Author: PokeyDotes  
Warnings: None  
A/N: This is a team fic, but will mostly focus around Deeks, with a lot of Nell, Eric, and some Kensi. There will be hints of Kensi/Deeks and Nell/Eric pairings, nothing that wouldn't be in the show.

* * *

It's weird how the mind works. It can completely shut down, block out all external stimuli in the hopes of offering protection. She realizes that's probably what happened, probably the reason she doesn't remember how she got in the car. She knows she's in a vehicle, she can feel her body moving in the seat as tires travel over pitted road, the buckle for the seat belt pushing into the bruised flesh at her knee.

Her eyes are closed, squeezed shut, her nose wrinkled, her lips a tight line—the universal face of pain. She's vaguely aware of someone holding her, strong fingers digging into her back, a warm palm pressing against her right side.

She smells gun oil, blood, soap, and something distinctly male. She keeps her eyes closed, feeling safe against him. Slowly, she recognizes that people are talking, her sluggish brain realizing that someone else is in the car, someone else _has_ to be in the car, someone has to drive.

"…out of it. Shock maybe?" Someone says from far away.

She knows that voice, she hears it everyday. She turns her face, her cheek rubbing against the fabric of her savior's shirt, her hands fisting in the soft material.

"Nell? You with me?" he asks, his breath tickling the top of her head, blowing against her hair. She feels his voice, that deep rattle as her ear presses against his chest.

She forces her eyes open and jumps back, her mind deeming it okay for her to once again take control. It's weird how the mind works.

Deeks lets her go, removing his hand from her back but keeping a firm hold on her side. She stares at him for a moment, noting the concern outlining his face, before she allows her eyes to follow his arm, tracing the path to her side.

Her dress is ruined, the blood seeping through his fingers staining the light brown material a shiny, dark black.

She looks back at him, at his side, a mirror image of hers. The entire left side of his shirt is wet, blood soaking through, clinging fabric to skin.

Forcing her eyes away from the proof that everything's not okay, she looks for her voice, finding it and not liking how young it sounds.

"We were shot," she says.

He gives her a crooked smile etched in sadness. The lines around his eyes crease in pain as he answers her.

"Yeah, we were."

**Seven hours earlier…**

When he was younger, his mom didn't want him to surf. She was always afraid of undertows, sharks, and the possibility of landing wrong.

"_Marty, you could get killed. What if the wave smashes the board against your head? It could snap your neck."_

Deeks would try to laugh it off until he realized that just made it worse, heightening her worry, making her think he wasn't taking any threats to his well-being seriously. She had followed him to his lessons, sitting beneath an umbrella, pretending to read as she watched him struggle to stand on his board. It took a while, but she eventually learned to trust him not to drown because of stupidity.

Now, nearly twenty years after his first lesson, Deeks sends out a silent prayer, thanking whoever's listening that his mother no longer feels the need to come out and watch him surf. He rubs a pruning hand over the back of his head, wincing at the soft flesh and the already noticeable bump.

It had been a rookie mistake, something he hadn't done in years. He had gotten too close to the edge of the board, sending the side beneath the water, taking him down with it. The wave had kept going, sweeping his board into the air before bringing it down hard on the back of his head.

He had emerged from the water, coughing and scrambling to the shore, his face burning with embarrassment. Looking around at the near empty beach, he sends another thankful prayer that no one had been watching.

He doesn't live directly on the beach, but he's close enough, as close as you can get on a detective's salary without referring to a cardboard box as your home. It's almost a mile, not far enough to bother with a car. Normally, he'd bring Monty with him, letting the dog get his exercise and have a little fun while splashing in the ocean. But the overgrown pup's got a vet appointment later than afternoon, and the last thing Deeks wants is to ride around in a wet dog-scented car.

Tucking the board beneath his arm, he massages the fresh knot on the back of his head as he runs up the stairs leading to his front door. He frowns when he notices a brown paper bag resting on the welcome mat, his last name written in large, block letters with red ink across the front.

Deeks turns and casts a careful eye around the apartment complex, finding no one but the young-at-heart Mrs. Nolan, the only person who thinks it's okay to wear a tube-top after sixty and is probably one bottle of tanning oil away from embracing melanoma as her close and personal friend.

He nudges the bag with the end of his surfboard. When there's no sign of impending doom, he deftly bends forward and picks up the bag, expecting it to be heavier than it is. When he pushes his front door open, Monty lazily casts his eyes in Deeks direction, not even bothering to lift his head from his spot on the couch.

In turn, Deeks leans his board against the wall, walking towards the kitchen while he opens the bag. "No, don't hurt yourself, Boy. No need to show you love me or anything. It's not like I feed y-." He trails off as he peers into the bag, one hand reaching inside.

Years spent working undercover has helped groom Deeks into being ready for any situation, helped prepare him to expect the unexpected. Turning the bag upside down and emptying its contents onto his countertop, he can't help thinking that his previous handlers, and maybe even Hetty would forgive him for being dumbstruck as he takes in the many photos pushing up against his coffee machine.

There are dozens of photos, some having been taken during the day, others at night. All of them obviously done without the subjects' knowledge.

They're all there. Several photos of each of them.

A picture taken through Callen's kitchen window showing the agent opening a beer bottle. A picture of Sam at a gas station, an unopened bag of chips in his hand as he pumps gas. Eric standing at a crosswalk, his attention focused on the phone in his hands. Nell resting on her balcony, her foot propped on the railing as she paints her toes. Kensi talking to a stranger, her smile soft as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Hetty sitting at an outdoor café, the newspaper spread out before her. Deeks walking down the street, his face squinted against the sun as Monty tests the limits of his leash.

Laundry mats, parking lots, check out lines. Pictures of the entire team taken while they were seemingly at ease, all off the clock. None of them even aware they were being watched.

TBC...

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Reviews are greatly appreciated. The next chapter should be up soon, whether or not anyone asks for it.


	2. Every Move You Make

**I want to thank everyone that's following this story and has taken the time to review. I really didn't see it getting that kind of response. I have to say, I don't mind being wrong. This chapter may start out slow, it's mostly a build up kind of thing, but most of the dialogue is necessary. (The rest is simply because I enjoy Deeks pushing people's buttons, and wanted some form of semblance between the characters' dynamics on the show.)**

* * *

Kensi isn't exactly in a good mood as she walks through the front doors. She'd been halfway to Vegas to meet up with an old friend for a weekend of fun before her phone started chiming, forcing her to turn around and drive the two hours back to the city. As she approaches the bullpen, she sees Deeks sitting on his desk, Monty dutifully resting at his feet. She can tell from her partner's posture that something's wrong, not that she didn't already know as much after receiving Eric's text informing her that her day off had been cut short. Deeks is focused on a spot on the floor, one arm draped lazily across his stomach as he twirls Sam's letter opener between his fingers with the other. It's his 'thinking' stance.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Deeks," she jokes, placing her bag on her desk, startling him out of his reverie. He absently looks to the letter opener in his hand before setting it back on Sam's desk, moving to sit in his chair before meeting her eyes. He gives her a lazy, half smile and Kensi feels her stomach drop.

Deeks is a myriad of facial expressions, most too similar for the average Joe to distinguish between, but Kensi knows her partner and she's learned to catalogue all of his idiosyncrasies. The smile he's giving now is the one he reserves for trouble, the one that says 'Alright, let's _pretend_ that everything's okay.' It's not one of her favorites.

She settles into her seat, leaning her elbows on the desk before interlocking her fingers, her chin resting on top. "I'm guessing you already know what's going on, or are you making that pouty face because you've got to cancel your plans?"

"You talk to Hetty yet?" he asks, ignoring her question. Kensi lets the smile fall from her face when she hears his serious tone. He's watching his fingers, occasionally glancing up to gauge her reaction. Any thought that they could wrap up whatever this is in time to salvage her weekend gets up and _runs_ out the door. Deeks _not_ trying to smooth things over with a joke is usually indicative of something bad. Kensi drops her hands to her desk, grasping on to her elbows as she leans forward, preparing for the worst. That lazy smile had spelled trouble.

"No. I just got a text from Eric. He didn't give any details."

Deeks purses his lips, nodding slowly as though it were the answer he'd been expecting. "I found a package on my doorstep this morning," he looks up, making sure he has her attention before continuing, "It had pictures of us in it."

"Us, as in…you and me?" she asks, noticing that no one else is in the office.

"Us as in _all_ of us. You, me, Eric, Sam, the whole team."

"What were we doing?" She tries hard to school her expression, carefully so as not to show how unnerved his news is making her. But then she hears that breathy, humorless laugh he does sometimes, and she knows that 'trouble' has just been upgraded to 'FUBAR'.

"They were just pictures of us doing the norm, you know? Day to day kind of stuff." He squints his eyes before rapping his knuckles on the wooden desk, leaning forward to mirror her pose. "Some of 'em were taken while we were at home. They know where we live, where we shop…Kens, we didn't even know they were watching us."

"Who are 'they'?" Her voice is small, almost hushed as she takes in the implications of what he's just told her. She hasn't even seen the pictures yet, but she already feels violated, that unsettling tickle you get on the back of your neck when you feel as though you're being watched showing up a little late.

Deeks just shakes his head, throwing a hand up in the air as he half-heartedly shrugs a shoulder. "Don't know. Eric's waiting for the lab to send him scans of the photos."

Kensi reaches across the desk for the small container of paper clips resting on the edge. She digs around the tangled clips and random straw paper until she finds a ponytail holder. "Any idea how long that'll be?" she asks as she stands and bends over at the waist, letting her hair fall forward as she works her fingers through it in place of a brush. Deeks doesn't answer right away, and when she stands, tossing her ponytail back, she realizes he had been watching her.

He clears his throat, and turns so she can't see his face, absently rubbing at the knot on the back of his head. "Uh, no. But it probably won't be long, they've already had 'em a couple of hours now."

Kensi quirks an eyebrow, frowning. "A couple of hours? How long ago did you get the package?"

"Around eight," he tells her, causing her frown to deepen. It's been almost three hours since Deeks found the photos. Why isn't the rest of the team there?

"Where's everyone else?" she asks.

"Eric and Hetty are upstairs. Nell's on her way. Callen went to pick Sam up at the airport. He and his family were supposed to be spending Fall Break in Florida, I think—wherever his relatives live."

"Sam's from New York," Kensi informs him, still not happy that she's the last to know about an apparent stalker.

"His wife's family then. They were supposed to take the kids to see Disney World or something." He lets out a frustrated huff of air, rubbing his hands tiredly across his face before leaning forward, his forehead resting on the desk. "This sucks."

Kensi quietly laughs at his muffled declaration. "I admire your ability to state the obvious, Deeks." She tries to say it without any emotion, aiming for a deadpan approach, but Deeks can hear the smile in her voice, even without looking up.

"Just one of the many reasons you love me. Right Fern?" It's his turn to laugh when her only response is a very indignant and decidedly _un_ladylike snort. He looks up smiling, a witty retort on the tip of his tongue when Monty decides to interrupt, his nose pressing into Deeks' side. He's whining, shifting from paw to paw.

"You gotta go, boy? Huh, Monty?" Deeks stands and reaches for the leash when Monty responds to his questions with a small bark and an enthusiastic wag of the tail. "Come on, boy. Let's go."

"Don't forget a plastic baggy," Kensi calls after him, causing him to turn and look at her. He's too busy giving his partner his best impression of the 'stink-eye' to see where he's going, and Monty may be a certified service dog, but the pup obviously was not trained to assist the visually impaired.

Just as Deeks turns back to face the door, he trips over the step in the entryway, sending him flying into the shoulder of the unfortunate man attempting to enter the building.

"Hey, watch it!" the man says as his opened water bottle falls through his fingers, bouncing off the top of Monty's head. The pup immediately backs away, stopping long enough to bark at the man.

"Sorry, man. Sorry," Deeks hurriedly apologizes, quickly bending to pick up the steadily emptying water bottle. "Here," he says, handing the bottle back to the man. Deeks recognizes him. He's seen him many times, working around the office, running errands for Hetty. Though Deeks has been working with NCIS for over two years, he still hasn't gotten to know everyone that works in the building, and as a result has no idea what the man's name is. "I apologize. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Obviously," the man says, a slight smile on his face as he brushes the water stains on his shirt, clearly not as upset as he could be. Deeks takes that as a good sign.

"Monty, hush!" Deeks commands when Monty continues to whine and bark before Deeks remembers the reason he had been heading outside in the first place. "Again, man. I'm sorry. I was in a hurry. Had to get my dog outside so he can pee on my partner's car." The last bit is said a little louder than necessary, causing Deeks to smile when he hears an annoyed Kensi yell back, "I heard that."

"He seems insistent, you better hurry," the man says, replacing the lid on his bottle before walking off with a smile despite his wet shirt.

"Come on boy. You wanna whiz on Kensi's tires?"

"Deeks!"

Deeks doesn't even have a chance to get Monty close to Kensi's car. As soon as they exit the front doors, Monty immediately heads for the opposing wall, sniffing quickly before hiking a leg.

"Pissing on the building. Hetty's gonna _love_ that." As soon as Monty's finished, he begins sniffing around, happily trotting around the side of the building. Deeks contently follows behind, not wanting to rush the dog in case he's got a little more business to finish.

As they approach the edge of the property, Deeks stops and pulls on the leash as Nell's mini-cooper speeds into the parking lot. He watches as she quickly opens the car door, and immediately his eyebrows rise in surprise.

She moves to the back of the car, opening the hatch before reaching for a deep-green bag. She hurriedly removes her heels—they're small, but it's more than Deeks can ever remember seeing her wearing. She's trying to slip her feet into a pair of flats when Deeks' low whistle startles her, wide eyes turning to meet mischievous blue.

"Not a word," she warns, continuing to put on her shoes before reaching for a white cardigan to cover her bare arms and strapless dress. Her makeup, while still light, is a lot darker than he's used to seeing her wear, and her hair is styled a little more than usual. Even with her head tilted down, Deeks can see the blush coloring her chest and neck.

"Nell, am I witnessing a walk of shame?" he asks.

"What? No," she answers quickly, her tone sharp and indignant.

Not to be deterred, Deeks continues to smile, waving a hand to gesture to the slightly shorter-than-usual dress. "Then what's with the get-up?"

"I was supposed to have brunch with an old friend," she tells him matter-of-factly, meeting his eyes. Deeks can see she's telling the truth, and he knows there probably isn't anything to it. But a guy can't pass up an opportunity like this.

"Is this a _male_ friend?"

She looks back down, hiding her heels in the green bag before shutting the car's back hatch. "Does it matter?" she asks, keeping her face hidden.

"I'm taking that as a 'yes'," and his grins only widens.

"He's almost sixty, Deeks." She looks at him, her head tilted. She sounds exasperated, as though she were speaking with a small child who keeps repeatedly asking _why_ he has to go to bed, and she's one second away from screaming _because I said so, that's why_.

Deeks nods his head thoughtfully. "So you go for the older guys. Poor Eric. Guy never had a chance."

"That's not true," she says, pushing past him as she heads towards the building's main entrance.

"So, Eric _does_ have a chance?"

She stops and turns to face him, her eyes once again taking on that deer-in-the-headlight look. "What? I meant I don't go for the older guys."

His lips curl up into a crooked smile. "Didn't answer my question."

"First of all, this man is gay. Second, he helped me get my first job out of college. He likes to get together every now and then to see how I'm doing. Kind of like a surrogate uncle or something."

"All right, whatever," he says, letting her off the hook. Kind of. "So, can I ask you one more thing?"

"What?" She can't help sounding a little suspicious.

"How long have you been doing the whole _techie by day, vixen by night_ thing?"

"Don't we have a case to work on?" she asks, absently pulling the hem of her dress down and wrapping the cardigan tighter around her chest.

Her question forces the image of her painting her toes in what should be the safety of her own home to the forefront of his mind, effectively ending any teasing.

"Yeah, we do."

Nell frowns as Deeks pulls on Monty's leash, directing all three of them back to Ops.

"Have you spoken to Eric, yet?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

As expected, the lab didn't find any prints on the bag or photos not belonging to Deeks. The street cameras around Deeks' apartment showed a man in a Lakers cap dropping off the package. The man had obviously known where the cameras where, because he was careful not to look at them, and if he had a car, it was parked out of site.

Nell absently sorts through the images on the screen, arranging them into different groups, trying to determine when each photo was taken, trying even harder not to freak out when she comes across a picture of herself, so obviously clueless to the cameraman's presence.

It's unusually quiet in Ops, most people having taken advantage of the long weekend. The only sounds Nell's aware of are the steady whir of the computers and the annoyingly constant sound of Eric's foot bouncing up and down in his own attempt at not freaking out.

"Eric."

"Hmm?" he asks, looking up from the screen, his pen dangling awkwardly between his teeth.

"Can you keep still?" she asks, making an effort to sound anything but aggravated.

He just stares at her a moment, confused because he's almost certain he hadn't been moving. But then he hears it, the steady 'squeak' as the sole of his shoe rubs against the metal bar beneath the chair. He gives an embarrassed laugh before slowly setting his foot on the ground, removing the pen from his mouth as he writes down another estimated date.

Hetty had asked each of them to look through the pictures and write down when and where they thought they were taken. The fact that some of them appear to be months old only gave the team even more reason to worry.

"Someone want to explain to me how _no one_ noticed a man with a camera following them around?" Hetty asks as she looks at the numerous photos displayed on the large screen. There are only two taken of her, but they're enough to freak her out.

"None of us noticed it, Hetty," Eric tells her attempting to quiet her anger, assuming she's upset that the stalker had managed to fool even her.

"That's exactly my point, Mr. Beale. _None_ of us noticed." She shakes her head disapprovingly, her hands knotting in tight fists at her sides. "What do you think the director's going to say when he learns that an entire team of the agency's supposedly elite operatives managed to go months without noticing something like that?"

Recognizing a rhetorical question when he hears one, Eric purses his lips and looks to Nell, sharing a defeated look before going back to the photos.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi and Deeks keep glancing at one another, silently encouraging the other to make the first move. Deeks keeps casting his eyes to Callen, slightly tilting his head, telling her without words '_you do it'_.

Kensi just scrunches her face before shaking her head no. After a few moments of the quiet back-and-forth, she leans over and taps Callen on the shoulder before gesturing to her partner, indicating that Deeks has something he'd like to say.

Deeks levels her with a glare, clearly not happy with her subterfuge. He looks back to Callen who's watching him expectantly.

Deeks licks his lips, before slowly pointing to Sam, carefully mouthing the words 'talk to him' as he does so. Callen looks to Sam, takes in his partner's furrowed brow and hunched shoulders before looking back to Deeks, frowning and quickly shaking his head 'no' before turning back to the papers in front of him.

Deeks cast his eyes sideways, insuring that Sam isn't watching before tossing a balled up piece of paper at Callen's desk. When Callen looks up angrily, Deeks tilts his head to Sam, eyes widening pleadingly.

Callen once again shakes his head 'no' giving Deeks a look that clearly asks _are you crazy_.

'He's your partner' Deeks mouths, and Kensi nods in agreement.

"I can hear you, you know." Sam doesn't even look up, he just keeps his eyes focused on the pictures in front of him.

"That's really impressive, seeing how we weren't actually talking," Deeks quips, turning to face the man sitting next to him. Sam slowly turns his head, his elbows still resting on the desk.

"I'm not in the mood, Deeks," he grits out, not bothering to hide the ire in his voice.

"Yeah, see, I kinda got that from the whole brooding thing you got going on. I'd just—_we'd _just like to point out that this guy even got through Hetty's defenses. There's no need for you to be embarrassed—"

"I'm not embarrassed," Sam interrupts. "I'm pissed. There's a difference, Deeks."

"Noted," Deeks says, turning back to the pictures on his own desk, seemingly giving the impression that he's going to let the subject drop. Two seconds barely pass before he's turning back towards Sam, one hand held up in a placating gesture. "Just wanna say that when something embarrasses you, you tend to get pissed, so saying you're not embarrassed—"

"Shut up, Deeks," Kensi whispers in a singsong voice when she sees Sam remove his elbows from the table. Deeks snaps his jaw closed, his teeth clicking together as he smiles apologetically, once again focusing his attention on his own desk.

It had quickly become apparent that Sam was angry the moment he stormed into the bullpen. Compared to Sam, Hetty appeared to be only mildly perturbed at the news of the photos. Deeks isn't really certain if Sam's bad mood is elevated because he had to leave his family behind in Florida or if it's simply because the man that had drilled the importance of proper safety protocol into Deeks' head after his shooting has just been caught with his pants metaphorically down.

Either way, poking at a pissed off bear probably isn't the best move.

"Hey, guys. You need to see this." Eric's soft declaration, absent of his trademark whistle instantly puts the agents on guard. Standing, they each follow Eric back to Ops, none bothering to ask him what's wrong, all knowing they're about to find out anyway.

"This was just sent to the NCIS headquarters in D.C. They forwarded it to us as soon as they realized what it was." Nell gestures to the screen before she pushes play.

As soon as the video starts, Deeks feels Kensi tense beside him, his body unwillingly doing the same. It's footage taken from inside Kensi's living room. Judging from the angle of the shot, the camera was most likely hidden in one of the light fixtures on the ceiling.

There's no audio, just a slightly grainy image of Kensi's living room. After a few more moments of staring at an empty room, Kensi suddenly enters the screen. She's running a towel through her hair as she walks towards the front door. Thanks to the angle of the camera, they can't see who's at the door until he walks into the room.

Deeks sees Sam look at him through the corner of his eyes as the image of him caring a bag of take-out and a six-pack of beer enters the screen. He remembers that day; he had talked Kensi into letting him watch the game at her place, offering to buy her dinner in exchange.

"This was over two months ago," Kensi tells them, her face calm and stoic. Deeks feels slightly proud of her showing no outward signs of distress; because personally, he's feeling a whirlwind of emotions.

"Keep watching," Hetty says, her eyes still on the screen.

Fifteen seconds into the video, Kensi shows her first sign of discomfort.

Someone had applied computer graphics, aligning a pair of rifle crosshairs over both Kensi and Deeks' heads. When the video ends with a loud gunshot echoing through the speakers as a flash of white light takes over the screen, Kensi jumps, her arm bumping into Deeks'.

No one says anything. Kensi keeps looking at the screen and the translucent arrow positioned over the image of her living room waiting for someone to press play.

"When the facial rec. software popped out your names, they emailed it to us," Eric says after a few moments of tense silence when it became obvious no one else was willing to speak first, each too busy watching Kensi and Deeks for a reaction.

"You said this was from two months ago?" Callen asks, continuing after Deeks gives him a terse nod. "Stands to reason the camera's still there."

"Go get it," Hetty says, "Check and see if there's any more while you're at it."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

While Sam collects the equipment needed to search for bugs, Kensi paces back and forth between the two rows of desks, nervously chewing on her thumbnail. No one says anything to her, because what can they say? _Hey, sorry some creep's been watching you_.

They all know the sanctity that's supposed to come with your home. You're supposed to feel safe.

When Sam walks back into the bullpen with a large, black bag in his hands, the team stands as one and heads out the door, Monty close behind. They're quiet, each wondering how long someone's been watching them, how much of their privacy has been taken away.

As they approach Kensi's car, Monty begins to act up. Whining, short barks as he pulls away from Deeks, circling the Cadillac.

Kensi watches the dog with trepidation. Her nerves are already shot, and Monty's unusual behavior isn't helping. "What's he doing?"

Deeks doesn't answer her. He simply grabs her shoulder, stopping her from going any further. "Stay here."

He slowly approaches the driver's side, watching as Monty lays down, his tail tucked at his side, his nose pointing to the driver's door. "Whaddya find, boy?" he asks, already knowing. Deeks had trained Monty from a pup, he knows what Monty's trying to tell him. He's vaguely aware of Sam and Callen walking towards Kensi, asking her what it is he's doing. He ignores them, all his focus trained on the dog lying on the ground, soft whimpers begging for his owner's attention.

He carefully drops to his knees, gravel digging into the palms of his hands as he lowers himself down. It doesn't take long for him to find what he's looking for. Something that doesn't belong.

"Good boy, Monty. Come on. Let's go." Deeks grabs the dog by the abandoned leash, quickly standing and pulling him towards his team members. He doesn't stop once he reaches them, simply pushes on Kensi's shoulder, steering her towards the edge of the parking lot, far away from her car.

"What the hell?" Sam asks, following close behind.

"There's a bomb under Kensi's car." He keeps walking, slamming the front door open as he all but runs into the building.

It takes a moment for his words to fully register. "A bomb? Under my car?"

"Yep," Deeks says, not missing a step as he runs up the stairs, Monty's leash still in his hand. "Duct tape, wires…the whole gambit. Big bomb, attached to your undercarriage."

Kensi knows she should probably be worried, that a normal person would most likely panic. As Deeks hurries into Ops, the doors barely opening before he slips in, she wonders what it says about her life that all she feels is pissed.

Hetty looks as though she's about to remind Deeks of the No-Dogs-In-Ops rule, but stops when she sees the look on her agents faces. "What's happened?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Mail clerks, technicians, wardrobe assistants, the guy Deeks spilt water on, agents, data analysts, and Hetty all watch from the safety of the front doors as bomb technicians search the remainder of the parking lot for additional devices.

The bomb beneath Kensi's car had been triggered to go off as soon as she started the engine. The second device had been wired the same as the first, carefully placed beneath Sam's car. Deeks tries not to think about the fact that he almost left Monty at home.

As soon as the lead bomb technician gives Hetty a thumb's up, indicating that all's clear, she turns and faces the many people under her command. The whole idea of housing their base of operations in a Spanish styled hacienda on the outskirts of the city was to help garner privacy and discretion. The fact that seven individuals working at said base have been stalked for at least two months greatly endangered the entire outfit, but it had still been considered safe. At least, until the discovery of the bombs.

The stalker knows where they work. Their home away from home.

Hetty raises a hand, insuring she has everyone's attention. "As of right now, everyone in this building has officially been compromised."

Deeks can feel the worry spreading amongst the crowd as though it were tangible. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're shutting down, Mr. Deeks. It also means that you lot are no longer safe in the open," she says as she points to each of the team in turn, including Eric and Nell.

Sam bounces on the balls of his feet, his thumbs tucked into his front pockets. He looks around the crowd, taking in the nervous faces. "I hope you're including yourself in that assessment, Hetty."

"Oh, I am, Mr. Hanna, but someone has to stand guard."

TBC...

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EMOSEWA ERA SWEIVER


	3. Heard Round the World

**Sorry, Internet's been down, couldn't post it until today. Also, thanks for all the continued support. I literally laughed when I saw all the backwards reviews.**

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Through the years, Henrietta Lange has had her share of solemn moments. Standing at the foot of the stairs, watching as people rush about, quickly disconnecting computers, securing hard drives, and packing belongings, she realizes this is probably one of the more surreal of those moments.

They've been forced to bug out before, had to pack up and go to ground, but it had always been in the name of national security. There's no threat to the state of California or the United States. Her citizens are safe.

It's Hetty's life that's in danger, the life of her agents, her surrogate family.

It's personal.

She watches as Eric and Nell race down the stairs, arms laden with equipment, trying to bring as much of command with them as they can. She can't see them, but she knows her agents are in the weapons room, grabbing everything they might need.

She patiently taps her fingers on the envelope in her hand, waiting for them to join her. Slowly, the room empties, everyone leaving as they were told, until all that's left is she, Nell, and Eric.

As Callen and the others emerge from the weapons room, Hetty sighs, preparing to send them off on their own. She holds up the envelope, pursing her lips as she looks to each of them. "You're going to a safe house," she says, handing the envelope to Callen. "The address, keys, and burn phone are inside. Yours are to remain off, no contacting anyone, you know the drill."

She watches as Callen opens the envelope, dropping two sets of keys in his hand. He looks at her questioningly.

"You're leaving your vehicles here, and taking a pair of sedans belonging to NCIS. These cars are unmarked, and safe," she tells them, trying not to think about the bombs currently on they're way to the lab. "The safe house isn't completely guest ready at the moment, seeing how this was short notice and all. But there's more than enough space for the six of you. You are _not_ to go back to your homes. Buy what you need en route, and do not stop until you get there. I'll be in touch with you later this evening."

She breathes another heavy sigh, squeezing Callen's elbow as she passes on her way to her desk. "Good luck, Ladies and Gentleman." She stops, not even bothering to turn around as she begs them, "Please. Be safe."

"You too, Hetty."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Any chance we're heading to Beverly Hills?" Deeks asks as he helps Nell load the portable Ops center into the trunk of the dark sedan. Sam smirks as he holds up the index card displaying the neatly printed address, nowhere near Beverly Hills. "Seriously? She's sending us to the middle of nowhere? She might as well give us a couple of tents and tell us to make smores."

Kensi, determined not to let the psycho of the week dictate anymore of her life than he already has, smiles jokingly as she opens the back door for Monty. "Relax, Deeks. It's probably nicer than your place."

"So speaketh the Queen of Clutter," Deeks defends, frowning when he sees a noticeably full gym bag resting against his nearly empty one. "Speaking of, whatcha got cluttered in here?" he asks, pointing to the bag in question.

"Nothing I don't need," she tells him, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge to contradict her. Deeks, never one to disappoint, accepts her challenge.

"You pack your entire locker in there?"

"No," she says, "That's not my gym bag. It's my emergency ready go-bag."

He laughs, causing her cocky glare to morph into an annoyed frown. "What?"

"Nothing," he says quickly, brightening his smile. "I mean I should have guessed you'd be the whole girl-scout-ready-to-go kind of person."

Kensi rolls her eyes as she reaches down and pets Monty, slowly growing to like the dog more and more each time she sees him, with all his life saving and all. "Hey, I'd have been a kick-ass girl scout."

"I think you mean you'd have kicked the other girl scouts' asses." Making sure all the bags are loaded, Deeks slams the trunk closed and leans against it, crossing his arms across his chest as he waits for Callen to tell them the game plan.

"All right. Divide and conquer." Callen hands Kensi a second index card so she'll know where to go. "We'll stop and get a few supplies, you two take Nell and Eric and get everything set up at the safe house."

Kensi straightens her posture and shakes her head, clearly not happy with that plan. "We'll take Nell, but there's no way I'm riding in a car with Deeks _and_ Eric. What was left of my patience went out the window when someone put a bomb beneath my car."

"What'd I do?" Eric asks, looking back and forth between Kensi and Deeks.

"Nothing," Kensi assures him. "It's more what Deeks'll do. Besides, we've got Monty. You really want to sit next to a smelly dog?"

"Smelly dog that saved your ass," Deeks quickly points out, before frowning. "And he doesn't smell."

Callen just walks to the second car, smiling and shaking his head as he opens the passenger door. "Fine. We'll meet you there. Just…try not to kill one another."

Deeks' frown disappears as he turns towards his team leader. "Don't worry Callen. This is all just a little tough love."

"Please," Kensi snorts as she pushes Monty's nose back and carefully closes the car door. "I'll show you tough love."

"Promise?" Deeks looks at her over his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Just get in the car," she tells him, carefully suppressing the urge to smile. She stops him as he approaches the front door. "The back. Nell's riding shotgun."

"What? Why?" he asks, looking to Nell who smiles apologetically, looking slightly uncomfortable being included in _whatever_ back and forth the two have going on. "My legs are longer than hers. Hell, my legs are longer than _her._"

Nell's smile fades as she glares at Deeks, who's still looking at Kensi. "I'm not going to make her ride in the back seat with your smelly dog, Deeks," Kensi says, as the second car pulls out of the parking lot.

"He's not smelly," Deeks insists as he sullenly climbs into the back seat. "Are you, Monty?" At the sound of his name, Monty turns towards Deeks, his tongue hanging as he pants heavily, breathing heated dog-breath into Deeks' face. Deeks just turns his head, forcing a smile as he catches Kensi's gleeful eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Just drive," he tells her, turning and squinting against the mid-afternoon sun.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi watches as the green light once again changes to amber before stopping at red. She's watched it change three times now, during which the car has moved maybe two car lengths. Maybe. As more weekend commuters honk their horns to the soundtrack of Los Angeles traffic, she throws her head back, letting her frustration out on the headrest.

"Told you we shouldn't have taken the freeway." Deeks is slumped against the door, his long legs pressing into the back of Nell's seat as his head leans against the window. His eyes are closed giving the impression that he's sleeping. Monty's curled up against his side, having long ago gotten bored with the sea of cars surrounding them.

"Not helping, Deeks. Besides, we're not even on the freeway yet." She closes her eyes as she takes a deep, soothing breath in an attempt to calm her anger. "Why aren't we moving?" She hadn't really meant to say the question out loud, knowing no one could give her an honest answer, but Nell's quiet voice causes Kensi to smile.

"Because this is LA, and you've got somewhere to be," she deadpans, leaning forward to adjust the AC. "Wouldn't be LA without the traffic."

As soon as the cold air begins flowing through the car's vents, the engine's quiet whir begins to grow louder, increasing its octave. Kensi opens her eyes and looks towards the dashboard, her muscles tightening at the memory of the bombs. She forces herself to remember that these cars are safe, that the bomb squad had checked all cars before leaving. Her frown deepens as she sees the little needle gauging the engine's temperature begin to move, slowly creeping closer to the 'H'.

She leans forward and cuts off the AC. "What is it?" Deeks asks as he straightens in his seat, the car's malfunction jumpstarting his sense of alertness and erasing his boredom.

"Car's starting to overheat." She quickly rolls down the car's windows and switches on the heater, hoping it will help. "We have to pull over." She looks over her shoulder, turning on the car's blinker as the light once again changes to green. Not giving the other cars a choice in the matter, she smoothly eases the sedan into the other lane, eliciting a few honks in the process.

It takes longer than she'd like, but eventually Kensi manages to turn off the main road and maneuvers the car to the curb. She pops the hood and bites back a curse. The entire thing is hot to the touch, no thanks to the hour spent idling in traffic. Carefully, she opens the radiator cap, and peers inside. There's barely any water inside.

Leaving the hood up, she leans into the driver's window, letting Deeks and Nell know she'll be right back as she heads into the convenience store down the street.

"What's she doing?" Nell asks as she watches Kensi dodge traffic.

"No idea," Deeks admits.

Less than five minutes later, they see Kensi coming back with a gallon of water, which she promptly pours into the empty radiator.

"Alrighty then. Let's try this again." She starts the car and watches as the needle eases back towards the 'C'. Smiling, she turns off the heater, but leaves the windows down as she merges back into traffic and heads for the freeway.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Damn it." They've managed to make it to the freeway without any further problems. But less than half an hour outside the city limits, the small gauge begins to move, indicating that the car is once again overheating.

Seeing the sign for a rest area, Kensi sends up a silent prayer of thanks as she flips her turning signal on, joining a small line of cars onto the exit, most of which continue to drive past the small parking lot in front of the concrete encircled bathrooms. She pulls as close to the building as she can, popping the hood and reaching for the empty water jug as she does so. "Nell, can you go fill this for me? I need to check something."

"Sure," Nell says taking the jug and heading towards the bathroom. Deeks stands out of the car, letting Monty out to stretch his legs. He walks towards the front of the car to find Kensi on her hands and knees, her head angled beneath the car.

He clears his throat and quickly looks away, knowing it's best not to mess with Kensi when she's in one of her 'moods'. "Uh, whatcha doing there, Partner?"

"It's leaking. I'm trying to figure out where." Her voice is slightly muffled, the angle and low position blocking the sound. Deeks hears her though, and nods absently to her backside.

She stands, wiping her hands and the knees of her jeans as Nell returns carrying a full gallon of water, handing it to Kensi to add to the radiator. "One of you go crank it for me?" she asks, putting the cap back in place. Deeks plops down in the driver's seat and turns the key.

"Well?" he asks, wanting to know whether or not Kensi's found the leak. The only answer he receives is the sight of his partner coming round the car, bending by his knee, and pulling the lever to pop the trunk.

She pulls out her go-bag, unzipping the side compartment and takes out a roll of army-green duct tape, before walking back around to the front of the car. The entire time, Nell and Deeks watch her silently, each wondering what it is she's up to.

"Are you planning on fixing it with duct tape?" Nell asks, as Kensi tells Deeks to turn off the car's engine.

"Temporarily. The hose is leaking." She pulls off a long strip and tears it with her teeth before handing the roll to Nell. Deeks shuts the car door and leans over the opened hood to watch as Kensi begins wrapping the tape around the hose and its fittings alongside the radiator.

"Was it cut?" he asks, thinking it may have been sabotaged. He allows himself to relax a little when she tells him no, that it just looks like the gasket wore out. "So, MacGyver, how long is that supposed to last?" He's doing the math in his head, and he knows they've still got a while to go before they reach the safe house, the one Hetty had chosen in the middle of freaking nowhere.

"Long enough," she tells him, taking another piece of tape from Nell and securing it over the first. "Let's just hurry and get there, then we can worry about it."

Nell hands Kensi back the roll of tape before picking up the near empty jug. "I'm going to fill this up again, just in case." She turns and heads in the direction of the women's bathroom.

"And I'm going to pee. Just in case," Deeks says, following behind Nell before calling back to Kensi. "Hey, go get my aromatic dog!"

Kensi slams the hood shut, wiping at a few smears of oil on her fingers. "Idiot," she mutters despite the smile on her face. "Monty! Come here, boy."

Like the good dog he his, Monty comes running. Used to claiming shotgun when riding with Deeks, Monty quickly jumps through the driver's side door before hopping over the center console into the passenger's seat.

Kensi watches, rolling her eyes as she sits behind the wheel to wait for the others to return. "Look who thinks they're special." She reaches over and adjusts the strap on his service vest before scratching behind his ears, glancing up shortly when another vehicle pulls into the parking lot.

She watches as the man wearing a cowboy hat steps out of the truck. When the man begins checking the air pressure in his tires, she relaxes, laughing as she lets out a shaky breath. "I think I might be a little skittish, Monty."

She never sees the second man head towards the bathrooms.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Deeks struggles with the paper towel dispenser, wet fingers trying to free the tightly packed, thin material. He dips his chin in greeting when a man in a dark trucker's hat and sunglasses walks past him into the stalls keeping his head down. When Deeks hears the sound of a zipper, he pushes the bathroom door open and steps outside to wait on Nell.

The sun is positioned just over the tree line. Looking at his watch, noting that it's just after three o'clock, Deeks sighs and leans his head back against the concrete wall. Hard to believe that earlier that day he was surfing, his biggest concerns being a knot on the back of his head and figuring out how he was going to trick Monty into going to the vet.

"Ready?" Nell asks, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Deeks smiles nervously, trying to mask his embarrassment at being caught off guard and the less-than-manly jump he may have done at the unexpected sound of her voice.

He never gets a chance to answer. The metallic squeak of the hinges on the door opening behind him catches his attention. Turning, he doesn't even look at the man's face, his attention being too focused on the gun tightly gripped in the man's left hand.

Deeks immediately starts backing up, one hand pushing Nell into the door of the women's bathroom, the other reaching for his gun. He doesn't hear the dull thud of the water jug hitting the ground or the hiccupping gurgles as the water begins to pour out. Two shots hit the large, rusted blue door as he squeezes inside and hurriedly clicks the dead bolt in place.

"Do you have your gun?" he asks, turning to look around the bathroom for another exit and finding only a small window, high up on the wall.

"It's in my bag, I never put it on today," Nell answers, her eyes darting back and forth between the window and the pounding door.

"Come here. You're gonna stand on my shoulders and I'll push you out. Take my gun, Kensi will have heard the shots—"

"You want me to leave you here!?" Her voice is high and worried, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead as she steps back from him and the window. "Are you crazy? There's a guy trying to kill us on the other side of the door and all that's separating us right now is a freaking deadbolt, and you think I'm going to leave you here without a gun?"

Nell's never actually yelled at Deeks before. In fact, he's never seen her yell at all. If not for the still resonant echo of the gun shots ringing in his ear reminding him of the seriousness of the situation, he might laugh at her incredulous look, at the hand poised on her cocked hip, at the very Kensi-ish nature of the whole thing.

"Nell, we have one gun, and no where to take cover. What else do you suggest we do?" Nell looks as though she's about to tell him when the kicking at the door suddenly stops, catching both of their attention with the sudden silence. They hear a car's engine rev, the sound of something heavy thudding against the sidewalk, and then a car's horn honking twice.

"That's Kensi, let's go." Deeks starts walking forward, gun resting at his side as he unconsciously raises his hand to guide Nell to the door. He reaches and unlocks the deadbolt, his shoulder resting against the doorframe, both standing back in case the shooter's still there and they're wrong about the driver being Kensi.

"Ready?" he asks, hand wrapped around the handle. When he turns to look at her, movement outside the window catches his attention, a shadow followed by feet. The shooter drops to one knee, the gun already aimed.

Deeks takes the arm not currently attached to the door and wraps it around Nell, pulling her to him, chest to chest. He turns, putting himself between Nell and the shooter as he opens the door.

He hears the gunshot, he feels her jerk against him, hears her gasp as her body goes stiff, her hands grasping the material of his shirt. He pushes her outside, out of the shooter's line of sight and within view of the dark sedan, Kensi worriedly standing beside the open driver's door, her gun out, aimed at the corner of the building.

"He went around back," she tells them as Deeks starts to trip over Nell. He looks down at her worriedly when she fails to put one foot in front of the other, when she refuses to even turn around, her face still pressed against his front. That's when he sees it. The paleness of her skin, her clenched jaw, tightly shut eyes. He tries to push her away so he can look for any injuries, but he doesn't have to. As soon as his hand touches her side, he feels the wetness, the thick warmth he's all too familiar with.

Pressing his hand against the wound, he once again wraps his arm around her, picking her up and running to the car. Kensi resists the urge to ask what's wrong as he awkwardly climbs in the back seat, semi-crab walking backwards as he pulls Nell in with him.

"Go, Go!" he yells, leaning forward and shutting the door. He drops his gun to the seat, holding Nell close as Kensi puts the car in gear and speeds off the sidewalk, the car thumping as the undercarriage grates the edge, Monty barking from the front seat.

"She okay?" Kensi asks, worried at seeing Deeks carry Nell to the car.

"She got hit. I don't know how bad." Deeks continues to apply pressure to Nell's side. He's sitting with his back against the door, his left foot planted on the ground as his right leg stretches the length of the seat, Nell straddled across as she leans against his chest, her head resting just below his chin.

"Nell? Can you hear me?" he asks, tilting his head to look at her face. She's breathing, he feels her chest move against his, the tight face of pain tells him she's still conscious. "Nell?"

"She's out of it," Kensi says, watching the interaction in the rearview mirror as she speeds towards the freeway, glancing back every now and then to insure they're not being followed. "Shock maybe?"

Deeks meets her eyes, silently telling her to hurry as he shakes his head, letting her know he's not sure. He feels Nell stiffen, her hands gripping his shirt harder, her head turning against him.

"Nell? You with me?"

It's weird how the body works. It can create chemicals in the brain, tricking the mind into believing one thing, ignoring another. As Nell jumps back, staring at him with wide eyes, Deeks feels the pull at his side. Adrenaline wearing off, no longer masking the pain, he follows her eyes, dipping his chin to look at the blossoming stain on his shirt, the deep tear telling him Nell wasn't the only one hit.

One bullet. Two birds with one stone.

"We we're shot," she says, and he can't help smiling, because yeah, they were. And he hadn't even realized it.

It's weird how the body works.

"Yeah, we were."

TBC...


	4. All Around the Mulberry Bush

**I may not respond to all of the reviews, because I don't have internet at home and can only post while at work, but I do read them, and I can say with absolute honesty that every time one of my stories receives a new review I do a little happy dance. I've written for a few different fandoms, but readers for NCIS:LA are the most responsive. That's why I love you. **

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"We? What the hell do you mean 'we'?" Kensi demands, reminding herself it's not a good idea to turn around and look in the back seat when you're pushing ninety on the freeway.

"It's not that bad," Deeks tells her, looking down, trying to determine whether or not he's telling the truth.

"Deeks…" Kensi groans, impressively sounding worried and pissed at the same time. "Nell, how bad? Both of you?"

"Uh…" Nell looks down at her side, at the hand still pressed firmly against her. She wraps her fingers around his wrists, hissing as she pulls his hand away, the movement causing another wave of pain. She's never been shot before. The worst pain she's experienced up till now has been a broken wrist when she was twelve and having her wisdom teeth removed.

"I think mine's just a graze." She can't really tell with the large amount of blood. "A really bad graze," she amends as she takes in the torn flesh.

"Put your sweater thingy on it," Deeks tells her, pointing to her cardigan. Nell nods, letting him know she heard him as she moves to look at his side. Where as her wound is closer to her ribcage, Deeks' is lower, nearer to his hipbone. A testament to their height difference.

She can tell immediately that his isn't a graze. It's a jagged hole on his front, as close to his side as it can be without being a graze. Another inch or two and the bullet might have missed him completely.

She looks up, meeting his eyes. He barely shakes his head, asking her not to tell Kensi, at least not yet.

"What about Deeks?" Kensi asks, risking a quick glance over the back seat. All she manages to see is Nell leaning forward, her hands at Deeks' side.

Still looking Deeks in the eye, Nell clears her throat and lies. "I can't really tell, but I don't think it's that bad."

Deeks smiles again, thanking her. "Put your sweater on your side," he says again.

Pulling her cardigan off, Nell feels her face begin to burn with embarrassment. She's still wearing the little brown, strapless dress. She looks down, and realizing she's straddled across Deeks' leg, her dress riding up higher than it has any right to, she quickly scoots back, removes her leg from around Deeks' and gingerly presses her now ruined cardigan to her side, biting her lip against the pain.

It's verification that Deeks is a decent guy, that he's not really the sleaze-bag Kensi sometimes teases he is when he looks away, giving Nell the privacy she needs as she pulls her dress back down over her thighs.

"Thank you," Nell whispers, and not just for his discretion, but for putting himself between her and the shooter, for getting her in the car.

Deeks opens his eyes and pulls his leg in, giving her more room on the seat. "You're welcome." His voice is a whisper, matching hers. He leans his head back against the window, not even feeling the bump from the surfboard, all his attention being claimed by the sharp throb that is his lower abdomen.

He's pressing both hands against his front, trying to stop the bleeding. He knows there's another one on his back, probably bleeding just as much, but putting pressure on one is all he can manage.

Yes, it hurts like hell, but he really doesn't think it's that bad. He's trying to remember his high school anatomy class, trying to remember what the instructors were saying during all of those first-aid classes LAPD requires him to take. Which side's the liver on again?

Nell watches Deeks, his Adam's apple bobs up and down, his nostrils flare as he bounces his leg, trying to distract himself from the pain. She feels her hands shaking, and she has to concentrate on taking deep, steady breaths. She sees Kensi's eyes dancing back and forth in the rearview mirror, constantly alternating between watching the road, checking on the pair in the backseat, and looking for any sign that they're being followed.

Imitating Deeks, Nell begins bouncing her leg, turning so she can lean her weight against the door. From her new position, she can keep an eye on Deeks and see out the back window at the same time. The traffic has thinned, and as Kensi bounces between lanes, weaving between cars and trucks, Nell feels like she wants to laugh. Earlier that morning, she had been upset at having to cancel a lunch date.

Now she's speeding down towards the Interstate, bleeding next to one of her good friends as they try to put distance between themselves and a madman.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

'Patient' has never been a word used to describe Kensi. Even as a little girl, her father would have to remind her to be patient, that she can't make things move any faster just by raising a fit.

So, sitting in an orange, plastic chair, waiting for someone to tell her what's going on, she tries to remember that fact, that getting up and threatening the old man at the front desk isn't likely to get her what she needs any faster. The fact that people keep staring at her like they've never seen a woman with a dog before is making it a little difficult.

The car had died a few blocks from the hospital, the engine sputtering out before smoke began to pour from beneath the hood. She didn't stop to look, but she's willing to bet money that the radiator busted.

Deeks and Nell had both been able to walk, a small and welcome miracle in what had quickly become the day from Hell. But Kensi staid close just in case, her eyes darting around, her gun out. She walked behind Nell, trying her best not to look at the no-longer white cardigan. She kept her hand at Deeks elbow in case his stumbling steps and crooked path decided to get worse. Monty had walked right next to Deeks, sensing that something was wrong with the man.

They had gotten lucky, managing to make it to a small town in the Santa Clarita Valley, about halfway to the safe house before having to abandon the car in the parking lot of some over-priced burger joint. No one had even looked at them, even noticed as a dog and three people, two of whom were bleeding, got out of the car and began walking away from the restaurant. Maybe everyone had taken advantage of the long weekend and left town, or maybe they all had somewhere better to be, but Kensi, Deeks, and Nell had managed to walk the three and a half blocks without running into any other pedestrians.

As soon as they were within eyesight of the ambulance bay, however, they were swarmed with people. Before Kensi could get a grasp on the situation, Deeks and Nell were carted off, leaving her to answer questions in the lobby.

The old man at the front desk had been nice enough to let her use the phone. She had to call three different numbers before she got one that didn't go straight to voicemail. Hetty had told her not to move, to stay where she is, and that help would be on the way.

That was over two hours ago.

Monty has his head resting on her knee, his eyes closed as she absently scratches behind his ears. She's still on alert, her guard's up. They hadn't expected the stalker to follow them, to be able to find them. Yet, he had, and it had almost cost Nell and Deeks their lives. She'll be damned if he's going to catch her by surprise again.

She hears the soft whoosh of air as the automatic doors open, and she swears she can feel Hetty's energy push through the room. How that woman manages to sneak up on people Kensi will never know, especially considering Hetty's mere presence _demands_ attention.

"Hetty…"

"Have you heard anything, Ms. Blye?" Kensi shakes her head, looking back towards the front desk, hoping to see someone walking towards them with news. When all she sees is the nice old man, she turns back to face Hetty.

"I haven't heard anything, but…I mean they both managed to walk here, so…it can't be that bad." She knows she's sounding naïve, but she doesn't want to think too hard about how things that seem okay can go south in an instant.

Hetty simply nods, her lips pursed in thought. "Excuse me, for a moment," she says, and Kensi watches as she approaches the nice old man manning the front desk. Hetty has her back to Kensi, preventing her from reading what her boss is saying. She watches as the old man types on the keyboard, laughing at something Hetty's said.

Finally, Hetty waves goodbye, and Kensi sees the man say, "I hope everything turns out okay," before going back to whatever Hetty had interrupted.

"All right. Shall we?" she says, gesturing to the elevators, indicating that Kensi should follow her. Reaching for Monty's leash, Kensi stands and follows behind Hetty, feeling slightly relieved by Hetty's seemingly good mood.

"What did he say?" Kensi asks, stepping into the elevator and pulling Monty close. Even with the service vest, the dog still receives a few less than friendly glances walking through the hospital's halls.

"He told me where we could find our friends." Hetty presses the number three button and steps aside, her hands clasped behind her back as she watches the doors close. "A doctor will meet us upstairs."

Kensi doesn't say anything more. She simply holds tight to the leash, occasionally looking at the other people in the elevator. When the doors open on the third floor, she and Hetty are the only ones to get out.

Nell isn't in a private room. She's lying on her side watching the TV, her roommate rapidly changing the channels. At the light knock on the door, Nell slowly sits up, one hand going to the side of the green hospital gown covering the bandages hidden beneath.

Kensi peeks her head in, smiling when she sees Nell sitting up. "Hey," she says, pushing the door open and walking in, Hetty and Monty close behind. Nell returns the smile. She's about to ask about Deeks when the patient in the other bed calls out, "Hey! That's a dog!" frowning as Monty wags his tail, clearly happy to be doing something other than resting in the waiting room.

Kensi looks down at the dog before turning her gaze on the woman lying in the bed. In a very Deeks-ish sort of move, supporting Kensi's theory that the detective's a bad influence, she twists her lips in a crooked smile and says in a very matter-of-fact way, "No, it's not." Without another word of explanation, she turns her attention to her friend, ignoring the clearly insulted woman staring at her dumbstruck.

"How bad was it?" she asks Nell, relieved when Hetty pulls the curtain closed between the two beds, giving the illusion of privacy.

"Nine stitches. It really was just a graze, but it took a small chunk out." Nell rubs her hand over the edge of the bandage, feeling the tape pull on the bruised skin as the local anesthetic begins to fade. "Any word on Deeks?"

Hetty, noticing that the roommate has muted the TV, smiles as she takes a seat next to Nell's bed. "We're waiting on the doctor. Afterwards, we'll see what we can do about getting you out of here."

Nell scoots up in the bed, clearing space for Kensi to sit as they wait.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam didn't like the idea of going off blind to begin with. Having split up from Kensi and Deeks hadn't sat well with him either. Now as he eases the car along the bumpy graveled driveway, bringing the small cabin within view, his anger makes a comeback, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Where are they?" he asks, not seeing any sign of the second sedan. Even having left shortly after them, Kensi and Deeks should have made it to the cabin before Sam and Callen.

As the car comes to a stop next to the front porch, Eric looks towards the cabin at the darkened windows. "Maybe they got lost?" he asks sounding hopeful, wanting one of the agents to tell him that it's _not_ a stupid theory.

"Kensi knew where she was going. She wouldn't have gotten lost," Sam says, opening the driver's door and walking towards the cabin.

Callen follows Sam, climbing out of the car, his eyes looking around the empty yard. "And Deeks grew up around here. He might be a city boy, but the guy knows how to get to the forest."

"Probably was a backseat driver the whole way," Sam laughs. Out of habit, his hand goes to his pocket, reaching for his phone before he remembers they've gone dark, that there isn't anyone to call. They have the only burn phone.

Eric opens his door, but doesn't move to get out of the car. He nervously looks back and forth between Sam and Callen, each peering through the cabin's windows, cupping their hands around their eyes to shade out the late afternoon sun.

It's almost five o'clock. The drive from Ops to the cabin can be made in under two hours without traffic. They made it in under three and that included stopping for supplies. Deeks, Kensi, and Nell should have beaten them by at least an hour.

"Something's wrong." Callen reaches for the envelope in the glove box, searching for the small phone Hetty had provided. He pauses, his thumbs poised over numbers as he tries to remember which lines wouldn't be disconnected in a blackout.

"Here," Eric says, standing and taking the phone from Callen's hands. He promptly dials a number, and puts the phone to his ear, frowning before hanging up and repeating the process with a different number. He smiles and brings the phone down, pressing speaker as the phone continues to ring.

"I believe I said to wait for me to call you." Sam smirks, envisioning the tilted head and raised eyebrows most likely accompanying Hetty's voice.

"Kensi and the others never made it to the safe house." Callen doesn't waste any time, his eyes trained on the driveway they had just driven down.

"I know," Hetty says, her light tone growing serious.

"Care to share why?" Callen asks, sounding a little impatient as worry begins to set in.

"Am I on speaker, Mr. Callen?"

Eric reaches over the opened car door, handing the phone to Callen before he even has to ask. Switching the speaker off, Callen puts the phone to his ear, making eye contact with Sam before turning and telling Hetty it's clear to talk.

Sam watches as the muscles in his partner's back tighten, his posture stiffening at the news Hetty's giving him. He looks to Eric, seeing his own worries reflected in green eyes.

Sam can only hear half the conversation, but listening to Callen attempt to argue, each time being cut off by the mother hen on the other end, Sam pictures a sullen fifteen-year-old fighting with their parent.

"Hetty, we can—"

"You shouldn't—"

"Fine. Call us when you're on your way."

Callen hangs up the phone, letting his arms fall loosely to his sides as he stares up at the sky, angry eyes looking for calm. Slowly, he turns, fingers playing with the phone's antenna.

"Deeks and Nell were shot."

"What?!" Sam and Eric demand, almost at the same time.

"Hetty says they're okay. Nell's was mostly a graze, Deeks has some muscle damage, but he should be fine. Doctors are wanting to keep him for a while." Callen puts the phone in his pocket before rubbing his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. "They were having car trouble, and had to pull over. The stalker met up with them."

"What about Kensi?" Eric asks when Callen doesn't say anything about her.

"She's fine. She wasn't hit. Hetty and her are standing guard until they let Deeks leave." Callen walks towards the rear of the car, knocking on the trunk as he looks to Sam, sardonic smile firmly in place. "Hetty says we're to stay here, get everything ready."

"That's bullshit, G." Sam doesn't even move to pop the trunk. He squeezes the keys in his hand, wanting to hop back in the car and go find the rest of his team.

"Yeah, well she didn't really give us much choice. She _conveniently_ left out which hospital they're at."

Eric clears his throat, effectively gaining both Sam and Callen's attention. "Uh, how did the stalker find them?" he asks.

Callen once again looks around the large yard as Sam pops the trunk, revealing the bags of weapons they had brought with them as well as the few groceries they picked up on the way.

"That is a good question."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Perforating injury, retroperitoneal space, peritonitis, and colon. Deeks only understands about three of those words, and those are the ones he's managed to hold on to. From the moment he was placed on a gurney, doctors and nurses have been speaking non-stop, occasionally stopping to ask him a question or to ask him to do something. Mostly, they just act as though he isn't even awake.

He's hooked up to some IVs, the majority of the pain gone as he watches the clear liquid drip. His side's been x-rayed, scanned, probed, and prodded. The worst had to be when they cleaned it out, irrigating the wound to prevent infection and remove any foreign debris. At the moment, he's shivering. The cold air hitting his chest as the doctor works the ultrasound.

Despite the pain meds working their way through his system, the pressure the doctor's putting on his stomach creates a sense of nausea that's reminiscent of the hangovers that followed a few all-night benders Deeks had in college.

"You are one lucky man, Mr. Deeks." The doctor sets aside the ultrasound equipment, smiling disbelievingly as she shakes her head. "The bullet _just_ missed your colon."

"So, I'm good to go?" Deeks jokingly asks, only half serious as the doctor begins bandaging the neatly stitched wound.

"In a day or so, maybe." She's gentle, taking great care not to jostle his side any more than necessary despite the numbing agent he had been given. "We're gonna keep an eye on you. Make sure everything keeps going okay. You may have been lucky but you've still got some pretty impressive muscle damage in your abdomen. Let's not try and push your luck, okay?"

"Okay," he lies, knowing all too well that he's getting out of there the first chance he can. As soon as he finds out about Nell, he'll get Kensi to get the AMA papers and they'll be gone.

"I've already spoken with the agent in charge of your security. You and the woman you came in with will be put in a private room for your safety. There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Deeks." The doctor pats his leg just below his knee before standing, placing his chart at the foot of his bed on her way out. "Try and get some rest."

Deeks doesn't say anything in response. Just smiles and nods his head, playing the part of the good patient and not the confused detective. If Kensi's already setting up protection detail, that means she's not planning on helping him make his great escape.

"Well, that's just awesome," he thinks out loud, listening to the sounds echoing from the hallway. He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes fighting to stay opened as the morphine works its magic.

Magic is the only word that can be used to describe it, because one minute he's watching the fluorescent light flicker over his head, and the next he's waking up in a darkened room. He blinks a few times, using his forefinger and thumb to wipe the sleep from his eyes before looking around.

The only light in the room is coming from the streetlights outside the window, providing enough illumination for him to make out the very small bundle on the adjacent bed. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Deeks." He turns his head, following the familiar voice and frowning.

"Why you sittin' in d'dark, Hetty?" He frowns hearing the noticeable slurring.

"You needed your rest, both of you. I didn't want to wake you." She says it in that tone of voice that's uniquely Hetty. The one that makes it perfectly clear she thinks the answer to whatever questioned you've just asked had been blatantly obvious.

"What time s'it?" he asks, the slur slightly less noticeable.

"Just after midnight. You've been sleeping for a few hours now."

"Nell okay?" He turns and looks at the bundle, knowing it's her.

Hetty smiles, flicking on the small lamp above his bed. "Ms. Jones is going to be just fine. In fact, she's probably feeling a great deal better than you."

He nods, rolling his head on the pillow to look back at the ceiling. He still feels sluggish, his brain taking a minute longer to think than he's used to.

"Ms. Blye is in the hallway," she tells him, anticipating his next question. "She's talking with the policemen stationed outside the door. It seems she doesn't trust them."

Deeks smiles, imagining an untrusting Kensi judging the patrolmen. "Do you?"

Hetty inclines her head, pursing her lips in thought as she considers her answer. "I trust what I know, Mr. Deeks."

"And?" he continues, turning so he can see her face.

She smiles lightly, setting down the pen Deeks hadn't noticed she was holding. "And I don't know them."

His small laugh quickly morphs into a hiss of pain as the movement jostles his side, reminding him why he's in the hospital.

"Do you need me to call the nurse?" Hetty's already standing, her hand reaching for the call button.

"Nah, I'm good," he tells her, taking deep breaths. "Hetty?"

"Yes, Mr. Deeks."

"How did he find us?"

"I've been wondering that myself," she says, picking up the pen once again. "The Santa Clarita Police have been kind enough to check the car you were driving. There was no tracking device or anything of that nature found. That faulty gasket Ms. Blye had repaired with duct tape turned out to be non-existent."

"You mean it was sabotaged?"

"I mean that the gasket wasn't missing when the car was checked by NCIS personnel."

"So that's a 'yes' then?" he asks, pushing himself up against the pillows, biting his lower lip in an effort to keep from whimpering.

"Yes, Mr. Deeks. That is a 'yes'," she concedes. He's about to ask whether or not she thinks the shooter had followed them from Ops when Kensi bursts through the door, Monty and the policemen right behind her.

"Hetty, we have to go," she says, turning on the light, waking Nell in the process.

"What's going on?" Nell asks, as Kensi reaches for two bags resting near the foot of the bed, tossing one to Deeks's.

"Ms. Lange?" one of the officer's asks, getting Hetty's attention. When she looks at him, he hands her a pamphlet, the hospital's logo displayed on the glossy page. The words 'All around the mulberry bush' written across the bottom in red ink, the letters 'NCIS' written across the top.

"Does this mean anything to you? It was turned in at the front desk a little while ago," the policeman says.

"It's a nursery rhyme," Hetty tells him. "All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought—"

"Thought it was all in fun, until 'Pop' goes the weasel," Deeks finishes, emphasizing the 'pop' by clapping his hands together. "I'm guessing we're the weasel in this scenario?"

"Let's hope not, Mr. Deeks." Hetty stands putting away the pen and notepad she had been writing on. "Ms. Jones, Mr. Deeks, hurry and get dressed. Gentleman," she says, addressing the two officers. "Will one of you please accompany me to Dr. Thacker's office. We have an exit to plan."

"I'll be right outside," the second officer says, following Hetty and the first out the door.

"Son of a bitch," Kensi mutters, opening the bag resting on the bed. "They brought the wrong bag, Nell." She holds up a hard drive as proof. "They were supposed to bring up both your bags, but they grabbed this instead."

Deeks looks in his bag, setting aside a pair of sweat pants for himself. He pulls out a pair of light blue basketball shorts and tosses them along with a black t-shirt to Nell. "There you go," he says, gently tossing back his covers as he begins the task of getting dressed.

"Really?" Nell asks, looking at the oversized clothes.

"What? You'd rather stick with the gown?" Deeks forces a smile as he eases his own shirt over his head, careful to keep his left arm down so as not to pull any stitches. "Might be kinda noticeable, since we're trying to sneak out and all."

"And what? Her walking around dressed like an oompa loompa at recess isn't? No offense," Kensi adds quickly, turning to Nell.

"None taken," Nell assures her, gesturing to the curtain against the wall. "Think you could close that?"

Kensi pulls the curtain back, causing Monty to back out of the way as she brings it around Nell's bed.

A short ten minutes later, Hetty's knocking on the door, a frazzled looking Dr. Thacker at her heels as she hands Deeks a clipboard to sign himself out.

"Let's get out of here," Hetty says, taking Monty's leash so Kensi can help Deeks to his feet. "Lead the way, Gentlemen," she tells the cop, taking one of the bags resting on the bed as Kensi grabs the other. "We have a long drive ahead of us."

They sneak out the back, loading into the back of a minivan, its windows darkened as an officer in plain clothing gets behind the wheel, steering them out of the parking deck and towards the I-5, heading in the direction of the Los Angeles National Forest and the rest of the team.

TBC...

* * *

**I should warn you, I suffer from that weird need to hurt/torture my favorite characters. I don't know why, but I like to see them in pain and to come out the heroes. Translation? The hurt ain't over. (P.S. Deeks and Eric are my favs).**


	5. Here I am at Camp Grenada

There really isn't anything for Eric to do. All the laptops and equipment he and Nell had packed had been in the other car, and the large amount of weaponry overtaking the small dining room table definitely isn't something he finds appealing. Outside a paintball gun and the plastic imitations that accompany a few video games, Eric's never really been interested in guns—unless you count trying to avoid them, which is kind of funny when he thinks about it, seeing how _everyone_ he works with carries a gun.

Callen's working on disassembling one of the rifles, a cleaning kit opened and balanced atop several knives, there being no room on the table for the kit to lie flat. Sam had already unloaded and organized the supplies, putting away the groceries only to take them out to reorganize them yet again. Now, having run out of things to do, the former Navy Seal has taken to cleaning the safe house, scrubbing away at the rust stains that have accumulated around the faucet on the kitchen sink.

Both agents are too angry, too caught up in trying to control the need to be _doing something_ to worry about Eric, who's perfectly content sitting out of the way, waiting for his familiar territory to make a comeback. He learned quickly that trying to engage Sam or Callen in conversation would only result in Sam yelling, adamantly pointing out the stupidity in the others for not having called them. That had led to Callen smirking as he stepped in to remind Sam that it's not Eric's fault, that the tech is just as much a victim in this whole scenario as the rest of them. Sam would take a deep breath before letting it out in a slow, controlled stream of air, closing his eyes as he counted backwards from ten in a random language before resuming his house cleaning.

Eric had forced himself not to smile as he absently thought that Sam and Callen should offer marriage counseling.

It's dark outside, the air cooler as it steadily approaches one in the morning. No one had been able to sleep, no one even bothered to try. Two members of their team are in a hospital somewhere between the cabin and LA, an armed psychopath hell-bent on hurting them within driving distance. How _can_ they sleep?

The cabin isn't very large, two bedrooms, each with a large bed, one king, one queen. There's a foldout couch in the den, a Murphy's bed tucked behind an old slatted door disguised to look like a closet.

If any of them wanted to get a good night's sleep without having to share a bed, now would be the time to do it before the rest of the team arrived. Truth is, they have no idea how long they'll be here. The most they can do is try to eliminate suspects, shorten a list of possible threats that have a grudge to settle.

Between the seven of them, that list could get pretty long.

Eric unsuccessfully bites back a yawn, quickly ducking his head, and scratching at his nose to hide it. He's seen Sam yawn a time or two, mostly as he worked on preparing a couple of grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner. Callen's shown no sign of fatigue, seemingly content with cleaning and polishing the weapons, unnecessarily sharpening the knives.

The team makes fun of Deeks for being a city-boy, but he's definitely not the only one. Eric can't sleep when it's quiet. He needs the ambiance of the city to lull him to sleep. Errant sirens, car horns, stray dogs, the occasional pissed off neighbor's girlfriend screaming through the ceiling. He needs noise, and the rustle of the leaves accompanied by the sound of _way_ too many bugs are not the kind of noises he wants.

"There's no coffee pot." Eric looks up to find Callen standing in the middle of the kitchen, the rifle abandoned on the table. He looks slightly distraught as he holds a canister of coffee grounds, one of the first 'supplies' he had insisted on buying. Eric glances over the counters, noting the absence of the sought after machine.

"Who builds a house without putting a coffee pot in it?" Callen asks, slamming the canister down as he begins opening cabinets in the hope that the machine had simply been put away.

"Boil water, G." Sam turns, wiping his hands on a stained dishtowel as he turns off the water, the sink apparently as clean as he's going to get it. "Do it like they did in the good ole days," he smirks, a lone dimple forming as he watches his partner huff in anger and disbelief.

Not stopping his search, Callen softens his tone, carefully trying to sound sincere. "Sam, we have technology that allows us to play video games on our phones, there are satellites orbiting in deep space that can pinpoint our location within a few meters. Last week, we personally inserted a tracking system into the back of a guy's neck with a freaking syringe. We've come a long way since the _good ole days_. Tell me _why_ would I want to go back?"

"Because if you don't, you're not gonna get any coffee."

"You," Callen says, pointing a finger at Sam, "are mean."

"I'm honest. You on the other hand, are unreasonable."

Callen smirks, shaking his head as though Sam's the one being unreasonable. "Eric, are you hearing this?" he asks, turning to the man sitting on a bar stool along the counter, idly spinning a quarter across the chipped Formica.

Eric looks up, the quarter wobbling to a stop. "I, uh. Honestly, I kind of zoned out there for a mi—" the sound of the burn phone ringing stops him mid-sentence, all eyes turning to Callen as he fishes the phone from his pocket.

"Hetty?" he asks, recognizing the number. Sam and Eric watch as he listens to Hetty, their ears strained to hear the muffled voice on the line. Sam knows something bad has happened when Callen's lower jaw juts out, his tongue working over his bottom teeth.

"Everyone's still up," he says, looking at Sam and Eric. "We'll be waiting." He hangs up the phone, tossing it on the counter as he moves to put water on to boil. "We're gonna need coffee."

"What happened? I thought they weren't letting Deeks out till tomorrow." Eric doesn't try to hide is concern or the slight hiccup of panic in his voice. Hetty wouldn't have allowed Deeks out of the hospital earlier than necessary unless something big had happened.

"The stalker knew where they were. They're getting a police escort here," Callen explains, frowning as he counts coffee cups. "Eric, as soon as they get here, we need to get the systems up and running. I'm ready to find out who this guy is."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Deeks feels each and every bump on the worn road, the driver not bothering to avoid the bumps and rivets lining the path through the forest. The man has barely spoken a word the entire drive, only nodding when Hetty tells him where to turn. Nell and Kensi are both awake, each watching through the windows, paranoid that the stalker could be out there. Deeks doesn't blame them. The guy's been following them for at least two months. The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of drama and close calls.

As much as he hates it, the stupid nursery rhyme is stuck in his head, the annoying rhythm playing out in his mind as he hums along, his battered body rocking with the motion of the van.

"Just up here, there should be a clearing in the woods on your left." Hetty points ahead, the headlights barely illuminating the trees in the distance. The driver nods, slowing down as he approaches the small gravel road.

Sure enough, the road opens up revealing a brightly lit cabin, the blackened outline of one G. Callen standing in the opened doorway. The driver pulls the van alongside the sedan, backing up to make it easier to unload the bags.

Callen's at the van, pulling the sliding door open before Deeks can even gets his seatbelt off. He looks them over, each member of his team, checking to make sure they're okay.

"I hear you got shot again?" he jokes, grabbing Deeks's bicep and helping him out of the van.

Deeks does that breathy laugh again, the one that says he's only pretending. "Had so much fun last time, I thought 'Hey, why not?'" Callen only smiles in return, turning back to help Nell.

He quirks an amused eyebrow, tilting his head in silent question as she stands, Deeks's basketball shorts hanging to her ankles, his large t-shirt touching her knees. "Do I even want to know?" he asks, holding his hand out to help her step down.

"Probably not," Nell answers, moving out of the way so Kensi can get out.

"You okay?" Callen asks, letting the levity slide for a moment, needing confirmation that she and Deeks are in fact all right. At Nell's short nod, he turns to Deeks, frowning at the paleness he sees on the man's face. "Deeks, you good?"

"Yep," he says before proving himself a liar. He takes a shaky step back, turning away from the others as his stomach rebels. The curvy roads combined with the medicinal cocktail he had been given shortly before leaving the hospital had been playing with his stomach, making it a Herculean task to simply keep his insides where they belong.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, Monty pressing against the back of his knee. He ignores them both, choosing instead to focus on not passing out. The contractions brought on by vomiting pull at his side, pounding against the damaged tissue.

"I'm okay," he lies, spitting once more for good measure. He tries to straighten, managing to rise only to a noticeably hump-backed position. "Just car sick." While not the whole truth, it is slightly less of a lie.

"Go inside, Mr. Deeks." Hetty's standing in front of him now, her eyes looking up into his tired face. "Lie down."

"Come on, Deeks," Kensi says, and Deeks realizes it's her hand that had been on his shoulder. He turns, allowing her to steer him to the cabin, Monty keeping close by. They walk past Eric and Sam, both of whom are standing on the porch, and Deeks tries not to be embarrassed knowing that they had seen him be sick.

They step out of the way, Sam following them inside. "There's a bedroom in the back. He can—"

"No," Deeks says, not wanting to be kept out of the loop. "I can lay on the couch."

Kensi looks like she's about to protest, but Sam steps in, pulling open the slatted door in the corner revealing a squeaking Murphy's bed. "This is better than the couch." He secures it in place before going to the back room for some pillows and a blanket. "Figure since you and Nell got shot, you get dibs on the good ones," he laughs, holding up two large, fluffy pillows as evidence.

Deeks smiles taking the pillows as he eases down onto the bed. "See, that right there makes it all worth it." Kensi slaps him on the shoulder, and he can't help noticing that she held back, not hitting him as hard as she normally would.

"I'm gonna get your meds, then you go to sleep," she tells him, turning to go help unload the van. Monty turns his head, watching her go before standing and scooting closer to Deeks.

"I'm okay, boy," Deeks assures him, rubbing the top of Monty's head. He reaches down and unbuckles the vest, tossing it to the side and regretting the movement instantly as he's once again reminded that he was shot less than twelve hours ago.

He watches as his team and two police officers carry in the small amount of equipment that had been taken from Ops, laughing when Hetty steps into the kitchen and gets a good look around.

"Can someone tell me how 'get everything ready' translates into 'pile all the weapons on the table'?" She turns her head, looking at Eric and Sam as she points to the table in question. Eric slants his eyes to Sam, looking for a cue as to what he should do. Sam looks at the table, the mess included before pointing at Callen. "G did it," he says, catching Callen of guard as he walks through the door, oblivious to what's going on.

"G did what?" Callen asks, not liking the way Hetty turns her fierce gaze on him.

Deeks is too busy watching Sam throw Callen under the four foot nine bus that he doesn't notice Kensi walking towards him, a glass of water in her hand. "Here you go," she says, handing him two separate pills, one an antibiotic, the other for the pain.

He tosses the pills back, rinsing them down with the water. "So, what's the plan?" he asks, wincing as she sits down next to him, dipping the mattress. "What do they need us to do?"

"_You_ are going to lie down and rest," she says pointedly. He smirks, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

"I'm fine," he says, looking back towards the kitchen to see Sam and Callen cleaning off the table. "I just got car sick. It's not gonna hurt for me to sit up and look over files."

"Okay, Deeks." She rests her hand on his forearm, surprising the both of them. "I'll let you pretend that you're all right, that you're not in pain, and that you just got a really bad owie instead of a freaking gun shot wound if you let me pretend to take care of you." She doesn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the glass in his hand instead of meeting his eyes.

Deeks stares at her, smiling slightly as he thinks over what she's just told him, looking past the distracting humor to the concern and sincerity hidden beneath.

"I really am okay, Kensi."

"Yeah, but you really did get shot and you really should be in the hospital, so just…humor me?"

"Alright, Fern." He keeps his smile soft, his fingers wiping at the condensation on the glass. Sam had once said that Kensi and Deeks couldn't be partners until they learned to trust one another. They've developed the trust, but that isn't what makes them good partners. They care about each other. They may hide it behind snarky comebacks and witty one-liners, but they still care and _that's_ what makes them good partners.

As Kensi stands to leave, Deeks grabs her wrist, mischievous smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, you remember that time we played doctor? Well, technically _you_ were the doctor. I was the nurse…"

Kensi sees one of the police officers turn a curious eye towards them, clearly listening and having no idea Deeks is speaking about them having gone undercover in a hospital. "Deeks," she friendly warns, taking the glass from his hands, "shut up."

Deeks just winks at her, completely aware of the officer's presence. "I'm just saying, I wouldn't be against doing it aga—Hey!" She promptly slaps him upside the back of the head with a little more force than before.

"Lay down, Deeks."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kensi walks into the kitchen, setting the glass in the sink just as Callen cleans off the last of the knives from the dining table. The Murphy's bed is visible from the kitchen, and the cabin's small enough that Deeks can hear everything going on from his spot on the makeshift bed. He eases back onto the pillows Sam had brought, propping himself up as he watches Eric begin to pull out laptops.

"What are you doing?" Eric asks, staring at Nell as she bends to open one of the bags. She freezes, hand poised on the zipper and looks up.

"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" she asks, her eyes wide in question, her head tilted slightly to the side.

"Yeah," Eric says. "You were just shot. You don't need to be lifting anything."

"Eric, it was just a graze. I'm fine." She assures him, opening the bag and reaching in for a series of hard drives.

"Nell. Please." She stops and looks back up. Seeing the worry on his face, she slowly stands, lifting her hands in a surrendering gesture and takes a step back. Eric gives her a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he tells her as he reaches for the bag abandoned at her feet. Nell simply smiles in return and sits at one of the table's chairs. She busies herself with turning on the laptops Eric's already unloaded, plugging in the hard drives. The rest of the team sets to work helping her, distributing good ole time coffee, and getting their minds prepared for the daunting task ahead.

Eric and Sam head outside to set up the portable satellite that will provide them with Internet, Hetty and the policemen following behind.

"Ms. Lange, we're gonna meet up with the local rangers, do patrols. You and your team shouldn't have to worry," the uniformed patrolman promises her, looking to the officer that had driven the van for confirmation. Once again, the officer simply nods, showing no range of emotion other than a bland sense of supreme boredom.

"Thank you, Officer Daniels. I assure you my team and myself are greatly appreciative." Hetty smoothes the edges of her jacket, her eyes casting towards the quiet officer. His silence has unnerved her since his arrival at the hospital, years of experience telling her that this man isn't one to turn your back on. She waves them off, thanking them for their assistance once again before they load up into the police cruiser, leaving the team alone to sort through hundreds of files.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Callen squints his eyes, blinking away the burn caused by staring at a computer screen for far too long. Two hours in and all they've managed to do is confirm that they're doing their job right. Even narrowing the search field down to cases in which the entire team played a part, there are far too many possibilities for people that would want revenge.

They can't rule out those behind bars because they could have someone working for them on the outside. They can't rule out those that died because of angry relatives or acquaintances. Then there are those that got away, a few whose identity was never known, some that managed to flee the country. There's too many.

Whoever it is that's after them has to be good enough to follow all seven of them around with none of them knowing, have knowledge of where their offices are located in order to plant the bombs and supposedly follow Kensi, Deeks, and Nell as they were leaving, not to mention knowledge of how to build, plant, and rig a bomb.

It takes all of Callen's patience not to pick up the laptop with its never-ending list of past cases and throw it across the room.

Deeks had long ago fallen asleep, Monty standing guard at the foot of the bed. Kensi's sitting on the counter, her back propped up against the fridge as her long legs stretch towards the kitchen sink, a series of case files stacked in her lap. She yawns, raising her arms over her head to stretch out the kinks before returning to thumbing through the files, looking for someone with the know-how and capabilities of trying to kill them all.

Eric's fingers constantly fly across the keyboard. He's already checked the hospital security footage Hetty had given him, and had managed to confirm that the man delivering the pamphlet to the front desk was of the same height and build as the man who had been seen on the camera outside Deeks's apartment. He had even managed to isolate a fairly decent shot of the suspect's face, however without the facial recognition software, all he had been able to do was ask the team whether or not the man looked familiar.

None had recognized him, and as Nell had pointed out, she didn't really get a good look at the shooter.

Hetty pours a full cup of coffee down the drain, having given up on attempting to drink what she referred to as sludge over two hours ago. She takes in a deep breath, sighing as she contemplates the ramifications that will be felt should they not catch this man quickly. They can't stay cooped up in the woods forever.

Sam looks up from the file, absently sucking a paper cut on his thumb. He glances over his team, stopping when his eyes fall on Nell. She had been adamant about helping, insisting that she felt fine, that her injury wasn't that bad despite having had to be given blood at the hospital. Now, her elbow's resting on the table, her head leaning heavily against her fist as she breathes evenly, obviously fast asleep.

Sam kicks Callen underneath the table, jutting his chin towards Nell. Looking over the top of the laptop, Callen smiles at the image sitting across from him. "Nell," he says, gaining the attention of everyone in the kitchen, everyone except Nell.

"Nell," he says again, slightly louder than before. She jumps, her head swiveling towards the sound of her name, eyes wide with confusion and a slight sense of panic.

"Go to bed," he tells her, watching as recognition forms on her face, as she realizes that she's somewhere safe.

"I, uh…"

"Fell asleep," Sam finishes for her, not giving her a chance to argue. "Just go to bed, Nell. We're all about to call it a night anyway," he lies. Nell simply looks around, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear before nodding. She slowly closes the laptop and stands, one hand going to the rolled-up waistband of her borrowed shorts, securing them in place as she walks the short distance to the living room.

Too tired and too sore to care, she crawls onto the Murphy's bed, sliding beneath the covers next to Deeks. Not having a pillow, she cushions her head with her arms as she lies on her stomach. She had thought he was asleep, that's the whole reason she didn't mind sharing a bed—that and she didn't really want to be alone with a madman after them.

His sleep filled, gravely voice causes her to jump, her aching muscles tensing as he kicks towards the foot of the bed. "Monty, what's the rule when there's a chick in the bed?" Apparently knowing the rule, Monty stands and gently jumps off the bed before walking towards Deeks's side and lying down on the floor.

Nell lays her head back down, having lifted it to watch Monty's retreat. "I didn't mind," she says, choosing to avoid addressing her presence on the fold down bed.

"Yeah, but most girls do. It took me a long time to teach him that. Don't want him backsliding," Deeks explains, his eyes never opening.

Nell nods her head against her arms, refusing to laugh at the idea of Deeks spending time training his dog not to climb in bed when there's a girl there. "That's very…um…."

"Considerate of me?" he guesses jokingly, being able to tell she's trying not to smile despite his eyes being closed.

"Yeah," she tells him, "Let's go with considerate."

"Ms. Jones, I believe you've been spending too much time with Agent Blye," he says, imitating Hetty to the best of his drugged up ability. "You seem to have been influenced by her frequent use of sarcasm and condescension."

Nell turns her head towards him, lowering the volume of her voice so those in the kitchen won't hear. "Considering you're not-so-secretly in love with her, I'll take that as a compliment."

He doesn't turn to face her, but she can still see the outline of an embarrassed smile make its way to his lips thanks to the light creeping in from the kitchen. She can see him preparing for a denial. "I'm not not-so-secretly in love with her," he says, the volume of his voice dropping to match hers.

Nell turns back to face the opposite direction, muttering, "if you say so".

"What's that mean?" he asks, finally turning to face her.

Nell turns back around, keeping her head rested on her folded arms. "It's the only comeback I had in response to your blatant disregard for reality."

Deeks stares at her for a moment, the crease on his brow deepening as he thinks about what she just said. "Nell," he begins, small smile forming, "I know I'm kinda stoned right now, but that sounded like an insult."

Turning down the corners of her mouth and looking upwards, Nell pretends to think over what she's just said and Deeks's accusation. "Nope," she finally says, seemingly coming to the conclusion that he misunderstood. "That wasn't an insult. More like a polite way of saying you're choosing not to see the truth."

"Look, it's late. We've both got a couple of bullet holes in us. What do say we put this Yoda shit off till tomorrow when we've both had more sleep and there are slightly less narcotics running through my system?"

"Deeks, I know I'm kinda tired right now, but that sounds like you're admitting defeat." She smiles, purposefully having structured her sentence the same as he had earlier.

"Not defeat," he tells her, turning his face back towards the ceiling, his eyes closing as he prepares to go back to sleep. "Just postponing the final debates."

"If you say so." She scoots further under the covers, feeling a little more relaxed than she had previously, all thoughts of the stalker having left her mind. Deeks reaches behind his back, pulling one of the pillows out from behind him before intentionally flopping it down on top of Nell's head.

"Here's a pillow," he says needlessly, not bothering to hide the smile in his voice.

"Thank you," she deadpans. Her reply is slightly muffled by the pillow, making Deeks smile even more.

"Goodnight, Nell."

Nell whispering "Goodnight, Deeks," in return is the last thing he's consciously aware of before the aroma of bacon rouses him from his sleep.

He opens his eyes, blinking against the annoyingly bright sun shining through the curtains. The sun's low in the sky, telling him it's still early in the morning. He feels Nell lying next to him, her cold feet pressed against his hip as she sleeps curled in a ball.

He braces himself against the pain as he rises to a sitting position, wincing only once as his oblique muscle stretches and contracts with the movement. He looks around the room to find Kensi sleeping on the foldout couch. She's still wearing her jeans and v-neck T-shirt. The left side of the bed looks rumpled as though someone else had been lying beside her.

"You need any help?" Eric asks from the kitchen, watching as Deeks struggles to get out of bed from his spot at the table. Deeks simply shakes his head, taking another deep breath as he psyches himself into standing.

"Naw, I got it," he says, standing in what was intended to be a fluid motion. He only releases his breath when he's certain he's got his balance under control and he's not about to kiss the floor good-morning. Monty stands beside him, his wet nose pressing against Deeks's wrist. "Come on, Monty." Deeks leads the way to the front door, opening it enough for the dog to go outside. Monty stands on the porch for a few moments, looking confusedly at the door as he wonders why Deeks isn't following before he finally gives up and ventures into the large yard.

"What time is it?" Deeks asks as he walks into the kitchen, slightly surprised to see Callen standing at the stove flipping bacon with a fork.

"Almost seven," Callen answers, gesturing to a pot on the stove. "Water's still hot if you want to try for some coffee." Deeks notices the pile of coffee filters and colander used to strain the grounds in order to make a cup.

Deeks mutters a gruff 'thanks' as he gathers a clean cup from the dish rack, searching the counters for his prescriptions in the process, the pain having won out over his desire to have a clear head.

"Kensi put 'em by the computers," Callen tells him, already knowing what it is Deeks is searching for. "How you feeling?"

"Probably about as good as I look," Deeks laughs as he stirs a hefty amount of sugar into his coffee.

"That bad, huh?" Callen says, making sure Deeks sees his smirk. "How do you want your eggs?"

"You're gonna cook me breakfast?" Deeks asks slightly surprised. Callen simply gestures to the stove and the sizzling bacon, giving Deeks a look that screams 'Duh'. "Surprise me," Deeks finally says, taking his nasty coffee and turning to find his medicine.

"Did you even go to sleep?" he asks Eric, taking in the man's rumpled appearance and the fact that he's sitting in the same seat he had been the night before. Eric just sort of nods as he continues to type away at the computer, not really convincing Deeks that he had even heard the question. Sensing that he isn't likely to start up a conversation with Eric while he's in tech mode, Deeks turns back to Callen. "So Callen, did he get any sleep last night?" he asks, dipping his head to gesture towards Eric.

Callen stops cracking eggs long enough to glance at the tech. "He took a nap around four, but it was only for a few hours. He's been up for a while now."

"I can hear you," Eric says never taking his eyes off the computer screen. "I was just reading. Last night I emailed a copy of the hospital's security footage to D.C. and they finally got a hit." He slowly turns the laptop so that Deeks and Callen can see.

"Andrew Nichols, former fry-cook," he reads, "Had warrants out for failure to pay child support, failure to appear, and evading arrest."

"Sounds like a nice guy," Callen quips, going back to the stove. "Where can we find him?"

Eric turns the computer back to face him, preparing himself once again to be the bearer of bad news. "See, that's the thing. Andrew Nichols is supposed to be dead."

Deeks looks up from his coffee cup, frowning. "Phantom stalker. That's kinda creepy."

"His ex lives out of state, but I've got a phone number," Eric smiles holding up the burn phone. "Who wants to do the honors?"

Callen walks over, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of Deeks as he reaches for the phone. "What's her name?" he asks punching in the number displayed on the laptop's screen.

"Miranda Kimbrell."

Callen stands still, the phone pressed to his ear as he waits for someone to pick up. On the fourth ring, someone answers. "Miranda Kimbrell?" Callen asks, turning to take the call outside as Kensi walks into the kitchen, her hair sticking out at odd angles as her ponytail hangs loose and lopsided.

She plops down in the chair between Eric and Deeks as she reaches over and steals a piece of Deeks's bacon. "Who's Miranda Kimbrell?"

"That was my bacon," Deeks says at the same time Eric begins to explain about the identity of their phantom stalker. When Kensi picks up Deeks's fork and takes a rather large bite of scrambled eggs, Deeks frowns dropping his hands heavily against the table as he stares at his partner.

"Really? You're not even gonna ask? Just take my fork and help yourself, yeah." Deeks shakes his head, roughly snatching his fork back.

Kensi simply smiles, reaching and taking another strip of bacon before standing to make herself some coffee.

"So, did anyone come up with a brilliant plan while I was sleeping?" Deeks asks around a large mouthful of eggs. "I mean, we can't sit around on our asses and just wait for the guy to give up."

"According to Hetty, we're not allowed to leave until we have a better understanding of what's going on," Eric tells him, closing the laptop, removing his glasses and tiredly rubbing his hands across his face.

"Where is Hetty?" Kensi asks, using her finger to capture a few stray coffee grounds that managed to make it through the strainer into her cup.

"She and Sam went to talk to the rangers about twenty minutes before Deeks woke up." Eric leans back in the chair, stretching his arms out to the side as he pops his neck. "I think they might have said something about picking up a few more supplies. Apparently, Hetty thinks Sam and Callen don't know how to shop."

Deeks smiles, looking at Eric across the table. "Weren't you on that shopping trip, too?"

Eric meets Deeks's gaze, quirking an eyebrow in a very Spock-ish manner. "Please. Do you really think they let me have a say in what was bought?"

Deeks just laughs as he continues to stab at his eggs. "Trust me, I know how you feel."

"Not really," Eric counters quietly, leaning forward and resting his chin on his propped up hand. "I mean, there's some ninja, phantom stalker with a happy trigger finger that likes to blow things up after us, and all I can do is sit back and wait, hoping everything goes okay."

Deeks sets his fork down and faces Eric. "But you're always behind the lines. It's what you do. We trust you to get us what we need, where we need to be, and to have eyes on our backs. You're like the Alfred to our Batman."

"Yeah, well we're not in the Bat Cave anymore, and I'm all out of gadgets. This," Eric says gesturing to the small army of laptops and equipment taking over the dining room table, "is nothing more than a digital filing cabinet. All the software and programs I need to do my job are back at Ops. I'm completely defenseless if Phantom Drew decides to show up."

"Then I'll teach you how to shoot," Deeks says matter-of-factly, picking up his fork and resuming his breakfast.

"You'll what?" Eric says, asking the question before Kensi has a chance.

"You learn how to shoot, you won't feel defenseless," Deeks explains, not understanding why Eric sounds so surprised and fearful at the same time.

"_You_ are going to teach _him_ how to shoot?" Kensi asks, pointing between Deeks and Eric. "Did you take your medicine this morning?"

"Yes, but that has nothing to do with it,' Deeks defends, once again setting down his fork.

"I don't really like guns," Eric says by way of explanation. When Eric looks as though he's about to continue, Deeks holds up a hand, stopping him.

"I'm not saying you have to, but if Phantom Drew as you call him shows up, wouldn't you feel better knowing you had some form of defense? Besides, it not like I'm suggesting you walk around carrying a gun on your hip."

Eric looks to Kensi, not really sure how he feels about Deeks's proposal. "Have you ever shot a gun?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

Eric smiles sheepishly. "Does a paintball gun count?"

"No, it doesn't," Callen answers as he walks back in the kitchen. "Miranda Kimbrell sounds too angry to have known her ex is still alive."

"He doesn't have any other family. I can email D.C. and see what they can pull up on his supposed death, maybe we'll learn something," Eric says, already opening the laptop.

"Good, then later we'll teach you how to shoot," Deeks says determinedly.

"You want to learn to shoot?" Callen asks, grinning at the thought.

Eric looks up, his mouth slightly agape as he answers shakily. "Um, I guess?"

Callen takes the phone back out of his pocket, dialing Hetty's number to let her know to tell the rangers not to freak if they hear gunshots coming from the cabin. "Well, this ought to be fun."

* * *

**For those of you who have read my Bumper Cars story, I'm fully aware of the parallels between it and the scene with Nell and Deeks in this chapter. That scene was something that I had considered doing when writing Bumper Cars, and since Deeks pestered Nell about Eric in that story, I figured I'd give Nell a little chance to rib Deeks about Kensi.**

**I know there wasn't a lot of action in this chapter, but I had to lay some groundwork and I like a little fluff 'n tuff team moments. Chapter 6 will be up as soon as I write it. **

**Don't forget to review.  
**


	6. Fire Fight

The sun's sitting a little higher in the sky by the time they all make it out to the yard. Dishes done, emails sent, beds made. Everyone's ready. Deeks had taken one of the pillowcases and drawn an outline of a man on it with a permanent marker. He had given the man snake-like eyes and slits for a nose along with a wand, telling Eric to search for his inner-wizard and pretend it's Voldemort. Kensi had thought the drawing resembled the puff marshmallow man.

Now, duct taped to what's left of a dead tree, Pillowcase He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named awaits his fate, poised at the far end of the yard, clearly within view of the attentive audience.

Deeks, Nell, and Kensi sit on the kitchen chairs they had brought outside, watching as Callen once again double checks that Eric knows what to do. He makes Eric tell him where the safety is, making sure he knows to squeeze, not pull. When Eric convinces him that he understands the concept of lining up his sights and the importance of steadying his gun hand, Callen takes a step back and gestures to the taped target hanging twenty feet away.

Eric swallows nervously, his lips firmly pressed in a tight line as he raises the gun awkwardly, leaving no doubt to those watching that he isn't used to handling a weapon. He lines up his sights, secures his left hand under his right, supporting his wrist as he squeezes the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the quiet of the forest. Birds squawk and fly away, twigs snap and fall from trees as squirrels race to safety. Monty looks on with boredom, having been trained long ago not to react to gunfire.

Nell, Callen, Kensi, and Deeks all watch as Eric's hands fly towards him, the gun's recoil catching him off guard. He takes a step back, blinking as he looks at the gun in his hand before his eyes rise, searching to see if he hit his target.

"I think you missed," Kensi says, her smile friendly as she turns from the target to look at Eric.

"But at least you hit the tree," Nell encourages, noting that he had only missed hitting the pillowcase by maybe five inches—not bad for his first time ever firing a gun.

"Try it again," Callen tells him, crossing his arms over his chest as he once again nods towards the tree. "Compensate."

Eric straightens his posture, raising the gun for a second time. He aims like he had before, lowering the sights a good twelve inches, hoping to hit a bull's eye in the middle of the target's chest. Pushing up with his left hand as he pushes down with his right, he squeezes the trigger, smiling when he manages to control the recoil to the point that he's no longer in danger of breaking his nose.

He doesn't hit a bull's eye, but he comes pretty damn close to ending Mr. Voldemort's one hundred percent cotton ass. The bullet hits the pillowcase right next to the figure's head. If Deeks had taken the time to draw ears on the target, Eric would have just shot one off.

Turning excitedly towards the team, Eric smiles like a little kid as he points towards the target. "Did you see that?!" He turns back to the tree, breathing deeply as he attempts to run his hands through his hair, the butt of the gun knocking upside his temple as he does so. He's too excited to worry about being embarrassed. "I _actually_ hit it."

"You hit the pillowcase, not the man," Callen points out, smiling as though Eric's excitement is contagious. "Try again."

"Yeah," Eric mutters, raising the gun for a third time, his confidence boosted. He readjusts his aim from the time before, pointing the gun directly at the figure's head. He bites his lower lip as he squeezes the trigger, convinced that he'll get it right this time. As soon as the gun smoke clears, he frowns. The bullet went wide, hitting too far to the left and taking out the target's wand.

"Well, at least you've disarmed him," Deeks says. "That's a step in the right direction."

"You're such a dork," Kensi whispers to Deeks as she stands, removing her own gun from its holster. She walks up to Eric, taking a firing stance and signaling that he should do the same. Eric studies her, making sure his posture mirrors hers.

"Alright," she tells him, "you're not fully compensating for the recoil. As soon as you squeeze the trigger, the gun's going to want to jump back immediately. It doesn't matter how good you line up your sights, if you don't have control of the gun, you're gonna miss your target every time."

She talks him through supporting his hand, reiterating everything Callen had told him, adding knowledge of how to hold your shoulders, when to squeeze your biceps. She asks him whether he's left or right eye dominant, teaches him how to train the sights on the target. Then she steps back, standing next to Callen and waits for Eric to try again.

Eric looks doubtful, his mouth twisted to the side in mistrust as he once again studies the gun in his hand.

"Any day now, Gunslinger," Deeks encourages, earning a glare from Nell that says 'be patient!'

Replicating the stance Kensi had just showed him, Eric closes his eyes and runs through the mental checklist, insuring he's doing everything correctly, that he's prepared for what he'll need to do as soon as he pulls the trigger.

Support. Line up. Squeeze, not pull. Follow through.

Success.

Eric can't help the loud war whoop that emanates from deep within as he looks at the small bullet hole decorating Pillowcase Voldemort's left cheek. He bounces on the balls of his feet, gratefully accepting a high-five from Deeks as Callen, Nell, and Kensi clap for his success.

"All right, QuickDraw. Let's see if you can hit the other one." Callen smirks grabbing Eric by the shoulders and directing him back to his spot.

"The other what? His cheek?" Eric asks incredulously. "Are you serious?"

Callen just nods, smirk morphing into a full-fledged smile. "We're not trying to teach you how to get a lucky shot, Eric. Unlike Deeks, I take pride in my work. Do you have any idea what Sam would say if he were to get back and see that I didn't make sure you knew what you were doing? Big Guy would never let me live it down."

"Hey," Deeks speaks up, offended at Callen's insinuation that he doesn't give his all. "I take pride in my work. It was my idea to teach him how to shoot, and if it weren't for Kensi I'd be standing up there showing him myself."

"No, if it weren't for the bullet hole in your side, you'd be teaching him yourself," Kensi corrects. "Since you seem to have forgotten, I'll remind you again. Deeks. You. Were. Shot. _Yesterday_." She says each word slowly, emphasizing them as though she were speaking to a young, stubborn child.

"Well, Nurse Frightengale, I've been shot before, and since _you_ seem to have forgotten, it didn't hurt my aim any then."

"Yeah," Kensi agrees, "And how did that work out for you?" she asks, stopping Deeks's growing smirk before it even gets started. "We're not at a hospital, Deeks. We're in the middle of the freaking forest. I'm not asking for you to be a big crybaby, but it'd be nice if you at least acknowledged that you were hurt."

"Hey, I'm sitting in the chair aren't I?" he asks, gesturing to the wooden dining chair she had insisted on bringing out.

"Would you two like a room?" Callen asks, bringing the attention back to him and Eric. Kensi slaps Deeks's shoulder before he has a chance to respond. Nell smiles, causing Deeks to mouth 'shut up', to which she responds with an 'I didn't say anything' look.

"All right," Callen says, "Where were we?"

"About to concede that it's best to leave the heavy hitting to all of you?" Eric asks hopefully, doubting his ability and desire to learn to shoot. Target practice at a pillowcase taped to a dead tree is one thing, but he can't imagine actually having to shoot a living person. He's seen enough of it from the safety of Ops. He's visited enough hospital rooms to know the effects last a lot longer than the smell of gunpowder. "I really don't think I'm cut out for this."

"At least finish out the clip," Kensi says, sensing Eric's apprehension. "That way _we_ know you're covered if the worse should happen."

"Just pretend it's a kick-ass paintball gun," Deeks offers, trying to give Eric the courage he needs. Deeks likes guns. He loves going to the range and shooting targets, but he understands just how difficult it is to shoot another person. It's never easy, but then he supposes it shouldn't be. "It's just a pillowcase, man. Nothing more."

Eric nods, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, thankful smile as he concedes to finish out the practice. Focusing on the ridiculous outline of the figure, the army-green duct tape, he reminds himself that it's just for practice, just for fun to pass the time while they're waiting for a break in the case. It's not like there's anything else for them to do.

Over the next ten minutes, he empties out the magazine, coming close to hitting the target's other cheek, but never quite getting it. By the time they finish, the rest of the team concedes that it _is_ probably best to leave the heavy hitting to them and to make certain not to leave Eric unguarded in a firefight.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Showoff," Callen mumbles, watching as Sam skillfully dices a bell pepper, adding to the pile of chopped onions waiting to be cooked.

"Jealous, G?" Sam asks, smirking as Callen continues to stir the chicken on the stove.

"No, I'm not jealous. Just simply pointing out an observation. You're a showoff."

Sam rolls his eyes, setting the knife down long enough to level his partner with an exasperated stare. "Please, this is about Liechtenstein isn't it?"

"What?" Callen asks, turning from the sizzling chicken. "This has nothing to do with Liechtenstein." He lifts the spatula, pointing it at his partner, "And you promised not to bring that up again."

"What happened in Liechtenstein?" Kensi asks, helping Hetty sort through the remaining groceries she and Sam had brought back.

"Nothing," Callen begins only to be cut off by Sam's enthusiastic account of the mission's mishap.

"G doesn't like to talk about it because he got stuck playing the waiter while yours truly was appointed Head Chef for the weekend's conference."

"You were only chosen to be chef because they didn't want to risk having you mingle with the general population," Callen defends, turning down the heat on the stove and accepting the chopped vegetables from Sam. "Didn't want to scare away the potential buyers."

"They'd have done better sticking you in the kitchen," Sam laughs before turning his attention back to Kensi. "Agent Smooth dropped his mic into a guest's bowl of soup. When she started to choke on it—"

"Which she wouldn't have done had she taken the time to chew," Callen interrupts.

"—G started the Heimlich. The woman was flailing about so much they ended up knocking over a bottle of two-thousand dollar wine," Sam finishes, acting as though Callen had never interrupted.

"Needless to say," Hetty says from her position near the pantry, "Mr. Callen effectively ended any hope of being covert and completing surveillance with any form of discretion."

"Yeah, well that wasn't even the worst part of the mission." Callen looks up from the stove, frowning when the smoke begins to rise. "Mr. Chef, you want to tell me what I'm supposed to do next?" he asks Sam, not entirely sure what it is they're supposed to be cooking. When Sam pushes him out of the way, quickly adding water to the pot, Callen continues with his story.

"Anyway, the next night all the buyers meet up on the hotel's kitchen loading deck," he leans his elbows on the counter, cutting his eyes to watch Sam's reaction to the next part of the story. "Chef here thought it'd be a good idea to waltz right in, chef hat and all and act like he's waiting on a shipment of mushrooms or something."

"Truffles," Sam corrects.

"Truffle is just a fancy way of saying fungus, Sam. Anyway, they're not buying it. Long story short, Sam's lucky I have better aim than Eric."

Sam laughs, shaking his head. "No, _you're _lucky you have better aim than Eric. If I remember correctly that one body guard almost punched your clock."

"You guys do realize I'm _right_ here?" Eric asks from his position at the kitchen table, "And my aim wasn't _that_ bad." He points to the pillowcase now hanging on the wall, decorated with fourteen sporadic bullet holes.

"Sure it wasn't," Sam says, taking in the sight of what's left of the cartoon figure. "Why didn't you wait for us to get back again?"

"Deeks was insistent," Nell explains as she continues to look through the emailed file D.C. had sent on Andrew Nichols's death. "Plus we were kind of bored."

"I see all the excitement of the afternoon wore Mr. Deeks out," Hetty observes, her eyes flitting towards the Murphy's bed and Deeks's prone form.

Eric follows Hetty's gaze. "No, Kensi just drugged him," he explains.

"I did not," Kensi quickly defends, her head spinning round to look innocently at Hetty. "He was…due for his medicine anyway."

"He was being a stubborn ass, trying to act like he's not hurt," Callen pitches in, sounding more like Sam than he intended. "He was wearing himself out."

"Well, some rest will do him good," Hetty says, handing Sam a can of Northern beans, "We'll be sure to save him some chili for when he wakes up."

"Do any of you remember a fire a few years back at the Vega Extended-Stay Hotel?" Nell asks, looking up from the laptop.

"If I remember correctly, it was ruled a result of faulty wiring," Hetty answers as she sits at the table, looking disdainfully at the collection of wires hanging off the edge. "Several people died."

"Including Andrew Nichols. Supposedly," Nell corrects, reading over the autopsy report. "The body was too damaged to get a positive ID. It was recovered in his room, his car was parked in the parking lot, and no one else was reported missing so authorities assumed the body belonged to Nichols."

"So did Nichols catch a lucky break and use an accidental fire as a way to get out of jail time, or did he cause the fire?" Eric asks, looking to the rest of the team for an answer.

Callen leans over Nell's shoulder, reading the file for himself. "Judging by how he's after us, I'm gonna go with door number two."

Hetty smiles, looking at her team inquisitively. "Ah, but now the question is '_why_' is he after us?"

"And who's the body that was in his room?" Kensi adds.

"Tomorrow, I think it would be a good idea for you to go talk to Mr. Nichols's former employer, Mr. Callen," Hetty tells him, looking towards Sam, indicating Callen won't be going alone. "Be on guard, gentlemen. Nichols has proven himself to be _very _dangerous and quite capable of catching us all unawares," she warns.

Sam smiles assuredly. "We'll watch our backs, Hetty. We know he's out there now."

"Good, Mr. Hanna. Ms. Blye will remain here with me. Until Mr. Deeks is no longer out of commission, she and I will stand guard while Mr. Beal and Ms. Jones continue to research Andrew Nichols's past."

Eric raises his hand to his forehead, saluting his consent to the plan. Nell simply nods her agreement while Kensi looks towards her sleeping partner. Callen turns to Sam, smiling as he watches him stir the chili.

"Looks like we're going on a road trip."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

By eleven o'clock, mostly everyone has decided to turn in for the night. Nell and Kensi share the folded out couch, while Deeks maintains his spot on the Murphy's bed, Eric lying on the other side. Sam sleeps in one of the back bedrooms alone, insomnia keeping his partner from getting any decent rest.

Fearing he'd keep the rest of the team awake, Callen makes his way outside, walking towards the edge of the yard, surveying the tree line. Despite the porch light, it's too dark to truly be able to see thanks to the new moon. He passes the dead tree they had taped the pillowcase to for Eric's target practice. Most of the bark had come off, the slugs passing through the rotted wood.

He places his hand along the trunk, fingers tracing the cracks dancing from one point of entrance to another.

"It seems a little dangerous to be roaming around outside in the dark when there's a madman on the loose." Hetty's quiet voice sneaks up on him. He slowly lets his hand fall from the tree, artfully maintaining his composure, not giving any indication that she had startled him.

"I figured if Nichols makes it this far, I'd be no safer in the house than out here," he tells her, turning to see her walking towards him, her hands hidden in her jacket's front pockets.

She nods in agreement, looking to the bullet-ridden tree behind him. "You're worried about them, Mr. Callen." She doesn't clarify to whom she's referring, they both already know. He looks to the back of the quiet cabin, the front porch light casting a halo-like glow around the roof as his team sleeps inside.

"Deeks should still be the hospital," he finally says, acknowledging that he had heard her.

Hetty doesn't waste any time in voicing her agreement. "Indeed he should. And I assure you, if I believed we could have kept him safe there, he would have never left."

"He's in pain, and he can't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. And Eric," Callen says, turning back to face the tree, "he shouldn't even have to worry about knowing how to shoot a gun."

Hetty watches as the concern on his face wars with anger. "I wish he didn't have to," she tells him honestly, sighing as she remembers the first time Eric had gone undercover, the fear he had voiced when asking whether or not he'd be required to carry a gun. "We'll keep them safe, Mr. Callen."

The loud sound of barking draws their attention back to the cabin, the halo of light dancing as it continues to grow.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Eric had woken when Callen decided to go out the front door, the squeak of the old hinges sounding loud and out of place in the quiet living room. By the time Hetty had left to follow Callen, Eric had realized he wasn't likely to fall back asleep.

He looks to the windows framing the front door, the porch light shining through the curtains. Once he grabs his glasses, he can see the outline of Monty sleeping at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling in double time with Deeks's.

Slowly, so as not to jostle the bed, he stands and begins to tiptoe towards the bathroom. He makes it around the corner of the Murphy's bed, easing past the end of the couch before he meets his first obstacle. He bites back a curse as his shin comes in contact with the coffee table, Kensi having moved it in order to fold out the couch's bed.

He rubs the sore spot, feeling the indentation in the skin from the table's edge, knowing it'll be an ugly bruise by morning. With more care than he had used before, he continues his trek to the bathroom, hissing as his bare feet make the transition from hard wood to cold tile.

A few minutes later, he begins the journey back to bed. It's Monty's growls that give him the first warning, the smell comes next.

He rounds the corner to find Monty standing on all fours, his ears laying flat against his head, his shoulders hunched. The smell of gasoline is strong, and for a moment, Eric's mind _refuses_ to put two and two together. This can't be happening.

Then Monty begins to bark, loud jarring barks that quickly wake Kensi and Nell.

Before Kensi has time to ask what's going on, everything goes to Hell.

There's a loud swoosh of air, the light outside magnifying as the gasoline catches fire, the entire front of the cabin dancing beyond the windows. Eric vaguely hears Kensi mutter an "Oh, Shit," before he's backing away, reaching for an only half-awake Deeks, Nell by his side.

"Deeks, come on," Nell says, helping Eric pull Deeks to his feet. Deeks looks confused, and it isn't until Kensi grabs his arm and steers him to the back of the cabin that he even finds his voice.

"Whaddahell?" he slurs, trying to turn back around to see why Monty's barking.

Kensi simply continues to push him along and around the doorframe into the hallway, helping him as he stumbles over his bare feet. "SAM! CALLEN!" she yells, as Eric turns to grab Monty's collar, pulling the dog away from the threat. Eric barely hears the glass breaking over the sound of the fire, barely recognizes that something was thrown through the window.

Later, someone will tell him he was lucky, but as the cocktail explodes, the force knocking him back, all he can think about is the pain radiating the length of his arm.

"ERIC!" he hears someone yell shortly before Sam is there, grabbing him by the shoulders and lifting him to his feet.

"Go!" Sam yells as he bends down and lifts Monty, the dog whimpering with the movement. "Eric, go!"

Eric cradles his arm to his chest, his jaw clenched in pain as the smoke thickens. Nell grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him with her into Sam and Callen's bedroom. Kensi's at the window, Deeks leaning against the wall, still demanding to know what's going on, the pain meds and sleep making it difficult to catch on.

"Where are G and Hetty?" Sam asks. Eric manages to fight the pain in his arm long enough to tell him that they were already outside.

"It won't open!" Kensi yells, trying her best to lift the stubborn window. Sam sets Monty down on the bed, the dog standing and limping towards Deeks's side.

"Move," Sam says, hurriedly pushing Kensi out of the way as he tries to open the it, cursing when he sees it's been painted shut. He and Kensi both jump back in surprise when Callen's worried face appears in the window.

"Open it!" he yells, making an opening gesture with his hands as he does so.

"It won't open," Kensi says, repeating herself from earlier, trying her best not to sound as panicked as she feels.

"Stand back," Sam says, pulling her back and shoving her towards Nell and Eric. He waits for Callen to step back before slamming the end of a chair through the double-paned glass, raking it around the length of the sill to clear away the shards.

Pulling the blanket off the bed, he tosses it to lie over the now opened window, gesturing for Nell.

"Eric first," she says, already pushing her friend forward, "he's hurt."

Sam doesn't wait for Eric to argue. Mindful of his hurt arm, Sam roughly helps Eric balance on the chair so he can climb out the window. When Sam turns around, Kensi's already standing beside him, her hands tangled in Deeks's shirt as she pulls him to the chair. "Deeks is next," she tells him, her tone not allowing any invitation to argue.

Deeks has never needed an invitation though. "Kensi…" he begins, only to be stopped by Sam, Nell, and his partner all telling him to 'shut up' at the same time. It takes a little more effort for Deeks to stand on the chair, his legs shaking as sits on the windowsill, Callen grabbing his waist to help him climb down. Everyone tries to ignore the cries of pain he doesn't manage to hold back.

By the time he's outside, he's drenched in sweat, his face pale, none of it to do with the heat or stress from the fire. Monty begins barking as soon as Deeks's out of sight. Hetty and Eric lead him away from the cabin, helping him ease down to the ground, his back resting against a tree.

Nell's next, Sam practically picking her up and setting her in Callen's arms. Kensi climbs through on her own, immediately going to Deeks, her eyes glancing towards Eric and the arm he's favoring.

Sam grabs Monty, the dog still barking as the sound of the fire grows louder. Wood and windows crack with the heat as Sam hands the dog to Callen shortly before jumping out of the window himself.

As they run to meet the rest of the team beneath the safety of the distant tree, Sam casts his eyes around the yard. Anything too far from the burning cabin is shrouded in black, the darkness too dense to see whether or not they're alone.


	7. What's Behind Door No 2?

**I'm sorry it took so long. I learned that I most likely won't have a job after Monday, and I needed a day to deal with that. (Translation: I cried a lot.)**

**Warnings: This earns it T rating, language reference to sex and what not. Nothing graphic.  
**

* * *

"Everyone good?" Callen asks, his gun out as he scans the seemingly empty yard. When no one answers him, he turns towards his team. All eyes are on Deeks, his hands clenching his side as he nods his head up and down, quietly whispering "I'm okay, I'm okay" as Hetty kneels beside him.

Eric's standing, his eyes darting back and forth between Deeks and the burning cabin, his arm gently cradled across his chest. "Eric?" Callen asks, his eyes gesturing to the injured arm when Eric looks at him questioningly.

"I'm okay," Eric says, sounding a little more honest than Deeks.

"Sam," Hetty says, gathering Sam's attention with the uncharacteristic use of his first name. She hands him a small gun she had pulled out of the pocket of her jacket before turning back to Deeks. "He can't have gotten far," she says over her shoulder, hinting that they should go look for whomever started the fire.

Sam meets Callen's eyes, silently forming a plan. They stick to the tree line; Callen circling the cabin's left while Sam goes right. They're in perfect sync with one another. Knees bent, feet rolling on the ground, twigs pressing into the soft earth beneath their weight. Their eyes study each shadow, watching for movement as they round the cabin, both straightening to their full height as the motorcycle comes into view.

"NCIS! FREEZE!" They yell, their voices drowned out by the sounds of the bike's engine revving to life, the spin of tires flinging gravel as the driver speeds out of the clearing.

Sam and Callen both ready themselves, fingers tightening on the triggers when they see it. They each jump to the side, curling into a ball as their arms rise to cover their heads. The glass shatters, the cocktail exploding into the grass as the driver gets away.

"SAM!" Callen screams, standing in time to see the bike's taillight disappear down the driveway.

"I'm good," Sam says, the anger in his voice heard over the roaring fire. "Bastard got away." Callen can only nod in reaction to Sam's needless observation.

"Phone?" he asks, only to have Sam point at the cabin, a disgusted look on his face.

"We gotta get out of here," Sam says, judging the distance between the cabin and the trees. "Get Fire and Rescue out here before the forest catches fire."

"Hotwire the van. Meet us round back. We can call for help from the ranger's station." Callen waits long enough to see Sam's terse nod before he's jogging back towards the rest of the team.

"We heard an explosion," Kensi says, meeting him halfway. Her hair's a mess, she's barefoot and wearing a worn pair of pajama pants and a faded blue t-shirt. Her fingers keep twitching, almost as though the muscles in her hand know that she should be holding a gun.

"Molotov," is Callen's only answer as he continues to walk past her. "Sam's getting the van. We're going to the ranger's station."

"You don't have the phone?" Kensi asks as she jogs to keep up with Callen's brisk pace. "What about _your_phone? I mean Nichols already knows where we are, it won't hurt to turn it back on."

Callen glances back towards the cabin when he hears the distinct sound of glass breaking. "It was in my bag."

"Our weapons, the computers…" Kensi grits her teeth, rubbing her hands on the leg of her pants as she tries to control her anger. "Eric got burned. It's not that bad, but it probably hurts like hell."

"We can call for an ambulance once we get to the station," Callen tells her as they approach the tree. He notices for the first time that he and Hetty are the only two wearing shoes. "How's Deeks?"

"I'm fine," Deeks answers, opening his eyes as his head rests against the tree. "Pain just caught me a little off guard that's all. Just needed to catch my breath."

"Eric?" Callen asks, seeming to accept Deeks's answer.

"It's not that bad," Eric quickly assures him, holding his arm up as proof. Callen sees the nasty redness even in the dark, and he knows Eric's just trying to put on a brave face. Burns hurt, no matter how small, and this one runs the length from Eric's hand to his elbow.

"Nell? What about you? How's your side?"

"Hardly even feel it," she says, making Callen think his team is composed of nothing but liars.

"Did you see him, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks, stopping Callen from calling anyone's bluff.

"He was on a motorcycle," he tells her. "Tossed a Molotov at us and got away before we could get a shot off."

"And Mr. Hanna?"

"Hotwiring the van." As if he had been waiting for a cue, the headlights of the van shine around the corner, illuminating the team. As Sam pulls the van around, Callen sees that the driver's side window had been busted in, explaining the sound of breaking glass he had heard earlier. The van must have been locked.

Deeks is already standing, shaking off Kensi's helping hand as the team loads into the van, Sam wasting no time putting the vehicle in gear and speeding towards the ranger's station.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Nell sits quietly, her hands resting in her lap listening to Hetty talk with the rangers as they iron out a plan of action. She's cold. Trying to keep her toes warm, she pulls the hem of her pants' legs down over her feet, curling her toes around the fabric as she sits on her hands.

Callen's pacing impatiently back and forth. The separate panes of glass in the trophy case distort his reflection as he walks by, Monty watching from his spot near Deeks, his head moving left to right with each turn Callen makes.

Kensi's leaning against the doorframe, watching as the medic checks Deeks over. Despite his insistence that he was fine, Hetty had offered no reprieve from the medical attention, going so far as threatening to tie Deeks down and do the exam herself should he continue to be a "stubborn bastard".

He's sitting on the edge of one of the rangers' desks, the left side of the t-shirt he had worn when leaving the hospital resting on his shoulder, his arm out of the sleeve so the medic can look at his side. The stitches remained intact throughout his journey through the window. The bruises have darkened over the last thirty-odd hours, making it look much worse than it actually is—or so Deeks keeps insisting. Kensi just rolls her eyes and tells him he isn't fooling anybody. Neither mentions the fact that all of his prescriptions were left in the cabin.

"You said you were shot when?" the medic asks, removing his gloves and signaling it's okay for Deeks to put his shirt back on correctly.

"Yesterday," Kensi answers as Deeks smoothes his shirt down over his stomach.

"Day _before_ yesterday, Kens. It's after midnight," Deeks points out, gesturing to the large clock on the far wall of the nearly empty ranger's station.

Kensi looks as though she's about to tell Deeks exactly what he can do with his specifics when the medic interferes. "_Why_ aren't you in the hospital, man?"

"He kept driving the nurses crazy." Kensi smirks as she pulls her unruly hair over one shoulder, trying to tame the loose curls. "They practically begged us to take him home."

"Please, you just wanted to take care of me yourself. Admit it, Fern. You like the thought of me, you, a sponge bath…"

Kensi simply stares at him, one nostril flaring in disgust. "The only scenario that will include you, me, and a bath is if I'm drowning you."

"Drowning me in love, you mean."

Kensi rolls her eyes as she gently shoves his shoulder. "I think you mean I'll love doing it," she says as the medic shakes his head, laughing at the couple before him.

"I'm gonna leave you two to sort that out on your own," he tells them, closing his kit and handing Deeks a clipboard of papers to sign saying he refused to go to the hospital. "But it was nice meeting you Marty. Fern," he says, nodding his head in good-bye to Kensi as he takes the signed papers from Deeks.

Kensi lets the smile fall from her face as she stares daggers at her partner who's too busy laughing to notice how angry she seems.

"You're an idiot," she mutters under her breath as she moves to sit next to him, purposefully not sitting too close.

Eric laughs from his spot at a nearby desk. The entire right side of his face and neck look as though he's suffering from a really bad sunburn. His arm had gotten the worst of it, blistering near the elbow. The medic had spread a thick cream from his wrist to the bend in his arm, wrapping it in a bandage to prevent infection.

The ambulance was called shortly after Fire and Rescue was dispatched to the cabin, and if either of the two, young medics were surprised to see the small station taken over by pajama-clad agents they hadn't shown it.

There had only been two rangers on duty when Sam drove the van into the parking lot almost thirty minutes ago. Both are easily classified as rookies, having no more than three years experience between the two of them. Where as the medics seem perfectly at ease working amongst the eccentric agents who look every part the group that literally just jumped out of bed, Rangers Martinez and Rogers had been a tad bit overwhelmed.

Sam's angry demeanor, the obvious ire that seemed to radiate off him in droves probably hadn't helped ease the two twenty-something year olds. The moment Sam had walked through the door, baggy wife-beater, loose sweat pants, no shoes, they had immediately reached for their guns. Only Hetty's quick entrance had stopped them from actually drawing their weapons.

It had taken a few minutes to sort out exactly who was who, the team's badges and IDs having been left in the cabin, but for the most part, a quick phone call to the Chief Ranger and Head of Park Services had quickly sorted out the issue.

Hetty looks to the clock on the wall, frowning as another minute passes by and there's still no sign of the second SCPD officer. The number of resources available to the team is limited, the threat of exposure for the unit and the possibility of Nichols finding them being very high. The two officers that had escorted them from the hospital, on loan from the Santa Clarita Police Department and a handful of Forest Rangers are all the outside security the team has. The fact that it's taking much longer than expected for Officer Sharpe to arrive is only expounding the frustration Hetty's felt since seeing the cabin go up in flames, the majority of her team still inside.

Officer Daniels chews on his thumbnail, occasionally darting glances outside, searching for his quiet partner. He had arrived shortly after the medics, his eyes rimmed in red, his clothes slightly wrinkled, blending in perfectly with the motley crew of sleep-deprived agents. He had looked around the station, confusion written all over his face as he searched for his missing partner.

"He's staying at the Inn on the edge of the forest," Daniels had told Callen. "Dispatch would have radioed him in. He should have beaten the damn medics."

Five minutes later, and Officer Daniels is about ready to climb the walls. He and Officer Sharpe have only been partners for about a year. In that time, Sharpe hadn't had a lot to say, but Daniels insists he's someone to be trusted.

"Something has to be wrong," he finally says, glancing once more at the silent parking lot. "He shoulda been here by now."

Callen looks to Sam leaning against an empty desk, his borrowed gun sitting near the computer's mouse. "Hetty, Daniels and I are gonna go check on Sharpe, see if we can't figure out what's keeping him. Call us if he shows up."

Hetty nods, giving her consent even though Callen hadn't outright asked for it. "And ," she says, stopping him from walking through the door, "please—"

"Be careful," he finishes for her. "Don't worry, Hetty. We'll be right back."

As soon as they're out the door, Hetty breathes in deeply, holding it for a moment before sighing heavily. It's a stress-relieving tactic she picked up years ago, one she seems to have been using often lately.

"Hetty," Sam says, drawing her attention away from the fact that her agent is leaving more or less on his own. "What are we gonna do? G can't be going out there without backup. We don't have any weapons, no ID, badges. Hell we don't even have shoes."

"I'm well aware, Mr. Hanna, but what do you suppose we do?"

Sam clenches his jaw, shaking his head in frustration. He doesn't know what to do, this type of thing isn't supposed to happen. They've all taken precautions to insure that they're safe, that they wouldn't have to worry when they're off the clock. Yet, somehow Andrew Nichols has managed to throw all that out the window.

"I don't know, Hetty. But we gotta do something."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Just after midnight, the small bed n' breakfast style Inn located about ten miles from the now burned cabin is completely quiet, a few cars parked outside being the only sign that anyone's home.

Officer Daniels parks his cruiser next to a rundown Toyota. As he kills the engine, the porch light comes on, the front door opening to reveal an old woman in a dressing gown, her thin grey hair falling loose around her shoulders.

She doesn't say anything, simply stands on the doorstep, the screen door separating her from the two men.

"Mrs. Jepson, sorry to bother you so late," Officer Daniels begins, shutting his door behind him as he walks up the front steps, "we're just here to get Nick."

Mrs. Jepson looks to Callen before turning her light eyes back to Officer Daniels. "He's in his room," she says as she pushes the screen door open, inviting them inside. "And Gregory, it'd be nice if you reminded your partner that I run a B&B and that neither one of those stand for 'Brothel'." She squints her eyes, showing her contempt for whatever Nick Sharpe had been up to.

"Excuse me?" Officer Daniels says, stopping his trek up the stairs. The Inn has only five bedrooms available for rent, all of them upstairs.

"You heard me," she snaps, jutting her chin towards the ceiling. "This house is old. These walls aren't exactly sound proof. I thought you boys were here for business, not to entertain loose women."

Officer Daniels stares at the woman, at a complete loss for words. He and Officer Sharpe had been taking turns staying at the Inn, splitting shifts so one of them would always be close should the NCIS agents need them. Tonight was Nick's turn. Nowhere in the plan did it include picking up women. Not while on the clock.

"I'll talk to him," he finally says, sharing a slightly embarrassed yet amused look with Callen.

They continue up the stairs, stopping at the first door on the right, a large, brass '2' screwed in place just below the peephole signaling the room's number. Officer Daniels raps his knuckles against the door. "Nick open up, man."

When there's no sound, he knocks again, slightly louder than before. "Nick!" After a few moments of no response, Callen steps forward. "Officer Sharpe. This is Special Agent Callen. Can you open the door, please?"

Silence.

Callen nods to the worried officer standing beside him, gesturing to the doorknob, signaling for him to unlock it. Officer Daniels digs in his pockets, pulling out the spare room key. When he pushes the door open, he takes a step back, struggling to make his mind catch up with what he's seeing.

The room smells like sex. The bed sheets are rumpled, pulled halfway off the bed, tangling around Nick Sharpe's still legs. He's on the floor, lying on his side. He's completely nude, wearing nothing more than the used condom resting against his thigh, supporting Mrs. Jepson's accusation.

His head's tilted at an odd angle, a small knife protruding just below his jaw. A Texas Toothpick Callen recalls as he takes a step closer to the dead officer. Aside from the blood staining the sheets and the body lying on the floor, there's no sign of a struggle. Officer Nick Sharpe had never expected it.

Callen turns to Officer Daniels. The man's still standing just outside the door, his eyes wide as he stares at his dead partner. "Daniels?" Callen says, trying to get the man's attention. Slowly, as though he's in shock, Officer Daniels turns, unblinking towards Callen.

"You need to call this in. I'm going to go talk to Mrs. Jepson." Daniels nods, his hand going to his phone as his eyes go back to the body.

As he walks by, Callen squeezes the officer's shoulder, offering support as he begins descending the stairs. He needs to learn more about this 'loose woman' Mrs. Jepson had seen.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The ranger station isn't very large. There are about six desks in the main bullpen, a large conference room that mostly serves as a dining room, a private office for the Chief Ranger, and a small holding cell in the back, just in case.

The cell isn't any bigger than a standard walk-in closet—big enough to hold a single bed, a little legroom, nothing special. Most days, the rangers use it to take naps, the nightshift fighting to call dibs on the single cot inside.

That's where Deeks finds himself, only partly against his will. He's surprised Kensi hasn't shut the door, locking him inside. The fire had woken him from a drug induced sleep, adrenaline and pain forcing him awake. It had been a couple of hours since he had last taken any medicine, and now, over an hour after the fire, all traces of pain relief are slowly starting to wear off.

The whole "let's jump out the window" move hadn't really caused any damage, but it definitely didn't feel good. He feels the heat coming from his side, the steady throb deep within reminding him it's not what one would classify as a 'flesh wound'. The medics left soon after Callen, the Fire Chief arriving after that, asking questions, demanding answers, wanting to know what "Dumb Fuck", his words, was responsible for starting a fire that could have potentially burnt down the entire forest.

Hetty had quickly brought him up to date on the situation, informing him if he quit being such an intolerable, ornery excuse for a man he might learn a little faster. Everyone, the rangers included, had to duck their heads to hide their smiles. For someone so small, Henrietta Lange knows how to pack a punch, and it's always worth watching as long as she's on your side.

Shortly after the Fire Chief left to return to the cabin a little angrier than before, his pride wounded, Deeks had started to feel the effects of the last few hours. He tried to hide it by sitting down in one of the empty desk chairs, but his slow movements, his suddenly quiet demeanor had tipped Kensi off.

After tattling on him to Hetty, Kensi successfully 'convinced' Deeks to lie down, at least until Callen gets back and they start to make a plan. That was almost thirty minutes ago, and now Deeks is fighting to stay awake.

More than once, he's had to stop himself from asking for his meds, temporarily forgetting that they're most likely a pile of melted plastic and ash by now. He's lying on his right side facing the metal bars, watching as Eric slowly moves a computer mouse back and forth.

Nell's typing away at an adjacent computer. The station has internet access, allowing them to get in touch with D.C. Hetty's already called the director, informing him of what's happened. Sam's sitting across from Kensi, slowly making a pile of neon colored origami from the steadily dwindling stack of post-it notes.

Kensi looks like she's about to snap. She keeps looking towards the door, occasionally glancing towards Deeks's cell, insuring that he's still lying down. Her fingers tap the phone resting on the edge of the desk.

Deeks turns his attention back to Eric, lifting his head as he notices the small orange circles decorating the tech's pajama bottoms.

"Eric, are you wearing pumpkin pants?"

Eric looks at Deeks, confused for a moment before he lets his eyes fall, taking in the brightly colored pants. "They're jack-o-lanterns," he clarifies, looking up defensively.

The question "What are jack-o-lanterns made from?" is on the tip of Deeks tongue. The sight of headlights passing through the windows stops him from asking it. He rises up on his elbows, stretching his neck to see whether or not the Fire Chief is about to make an encore performance.

Callen quickly enters, the air-pressured hinge stopping the door from slamming against the wall. A uniformed officer follows him inside, both frowning as Callen makes a beeline for Hetty.

"Sharpe's dead," he tells her, loud enough for the other agents to hear. "And Nichols has a partner."

Deeks ignores the pain in his side, the silent warning that it'd probably be best if he stayed lying down. He's across the bullpen, discretely leaning his weight against a desk by the time Callen begins accounting how he and Officer Daniels had discovered Sharpe's body, and why he's come to believe that Nichols isn't working alone.

"According to the Inn's manager, the woman's small, blonde, and dresses like a tramp," he finishes with a smile, reading from the borrowed piece of stationary Mrs. Jepson had let him use to take notes, disdainfully describing the 'hussy' that had fled the Inn on 'one of them motor bicycles'.

"She was on a motorcycle?" Hetty asks, her mind going to the same place as the others. "Are you sure Mr. Callen, that the person you saw at the cabin was a man?"

"No, not really. They were wearing a helmet and a jacket. That and the bomb they tossed at us was kind of distracting," Callen admits, looking to Sam for confirmation.

"It could have been a woman. It was dark…" Sam says, shaking his head as he tries to remember.

"Could it be his ex?" Kensi asks, dismayed to learn that they now have two people trying to kill them. "What was her name? Miranda?"

"No, she's in Colorado," Eric tells her, unconsciously looking towards the window and the empty darkness outside. "Callen talked to her yesterday."

"So what? She seduced Sharpe into telling her where we were and then killed him? Seriously?" Deeks asks, not really wanting to believe it, but unable to come up with another explanation. Whoever the arsonist was, they had managed to find them, with or without Sharpe's help.

"That's what it looks like." Callen sets the small piece of floral stationary on the desk, placing his hands on his hips as he tries to think. "SCPD are processing the scene now. She left her DNA, the murder weapon. If she's in the system, we'll know who she is within a few hours."

Hetty clasps her hands behind her back, straightening her posture as she prepares to deliver more bad news. "I've spoken with the director. He wants to move us out of state until the matter's resolved—"

"Hetty, we can't leave," Callen says angrily, not happy with the idea of having to hide.

"Let me finish, Mr. Callen. As I was saying, the director _wants_ us to move. However, I've managed to convince him that we need to stay. No one else is going to be able to catch these people. Unfortunately, he's given us a time limit."

Sam crosses his arms, taking a defensive stance. "How long?"

"Three days," Hetty tells him, clearly not happy about it. "Lets hope it doesn't take us that long."

* * *

**Review? That'd be nice...**


	8. She Sells Gun Shells by the Sea Shore

**I'm gonna have to give a warning for my author's note. Please just skip to the beginning of the chapter if you're easily offended.**

I want to thank you all again for the reviews. While they've all been amazing and positive, I just want to let you all know that I'm not one to get offended by constructive criticism. Whether it be pointing out inconsistencies with EMTs or the difference between Ms. and Miss, I appreciate it all. I take it in, and use it make me a better writer. Personally, I view it as a compliment that, not only does someone take the time to read your story and offer a review, but they care enough to try and improve your writing.

Flamers, on the other hand, idiots being mean just for the sake of it- Fuck you.

* * *

If Deeks hated the first safe house, he absolutely loves the second. Whereas the cabin was small and dark in colors, the beach house is light and open. The cabin only had one entrance, small windows, and a long gravel driveway. The beach house has a wrap around porch, two sets of large, bay doors, and a seemingly endless expanse of beach, the nearest house at least a quarter mile away. It's enough to spoil a guy.

Agent Ryker had met them at the ranger station, picking them up in a bulletproof government SUV by order of the director. Deeks isn't really certain if Hetty's appreciative of the rules Director Vance has laid out, or if she's simply being tolerant.

Deeks sees them as nothing more than restrictions. He understands why he's been sidelined, being shot and all, but they've only got three days to sort everything out, three days to find Nichols and his accomplice. Three days isn't very long when you've got nothing to work with.

Agent Ryker had provided Eric and Nell with a single laptop, complete with access to the NCIS database and various programs and software—a portable mini-Bat Cave, so to speak. Another agent is at the cabin attempting to salvage and recover the lost hard drives and weapons, along with anything else that wasn't completely destroyed by the fire and water needed to extinguish the flames.

They were even provided with an extra set of clothes and back up weapons. Albeit, the clothes weren't a perfect fit, everyone was happy to be out of their pajamas. There's something about a nice pair of jeans and a gun tucked in the waistband that makes you feel less exposed after trumping around in a pair of worn, flannel PJs. At least, that's how Kensi feels.

She's standing in the kitchen, watching the sky slowly lighten as the sun rises on the opposite side of the house. She's facing the beach, the rough, early morning waves blending with the screech of the sea gulls. The windows are open, a strong breeze flowing through the house, leaving the smell of salt and sand with a slight undertone of fish. It's relaxing. A stark juxtaposition to the reality of their lives.

Andrew Nichols has an accomplice. While there's still no word on the DNA, fingerprints recovered from the scene had brought up more than one match from various crime scenes throughout southern California and Mexico, mostly dealing in drug and arms trafficking.

Whoever she is, she's been around the block a few times. And that's where Eric and Nell recover their mojo, perusing the various blocks the trampy hussy had flouted about. They've already crosschecked the cases the team's worked against those in which Miss Hussy's fingerprints were found. Only one overlapped, dealing with arms trafficking.

About six months ago, NCIS ran an operation where they investigated a suspected arms dealer, named Hugo Ferreira. The man was transporting sub-standard weaponry into the U.S. and selling it in place of standard issue military weapons. Essentially, the guy was making millions by swapping out military artillery and selling it on the black market. NCIS had been handed the case after several Marines were injured or killed when their weapons malfunctioned.

Within a week, Callen and his team had taken out the arms dealer, forcing his operation to disband. They thought they had captured or killed everyone directly involved, but obviously, they were wrong. Whoever the woman is, she's obviously out for revenge. It makes sense, it's one of the most common motives.

But where does Andrew Nichols play into all of this?

"Sam and I are gonna go talk to his former employer later today," Callen says when Eric voices his frustration and the question that's on everyone's mind. "Maybe he'll know something that'll fill in the blanks."

"Let's hope so." Nell nods in agreement, gently pushing at the bandage on her side. The stitches have begun to itch, threatening to drive her crazy. "We don't have much more to work with if he doesn't."

Kensi hops up on the counter, her eyes still focused on the scene out the window, only half listening to the conversation taking place in the kitchen. She watches as a flock of sea gulls land on the beach, Monty jumping from his place on the porch, running full speed towards them, barking the entire way. There's a slight limp in his gait, and she vaguely remembers Deeks telling her that he thinks the small explosion in the fire could have strained the dog's old hip injury.

As soon as the birds are all gone, flying towards safety, Monty makes his retreat, slowly hobbling back towards the house, doggy-smile in full force. Kensi can't help feeling a little bad watching as he favors his back leg. That mangy mutt's saved her life twice now. He's starting to grow on her, kind of like his owner. It just takes a while for the affection and appreciation to truly set in. Like waiting for cement to dry. Really, slow-setting cement.

Setting her coffee cup in the sink, she hops off the counter, leaving the kitchen in search of her partner. It doesn't take long to find him. He's sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, foot braced against the railing as he slowly propels the chair back and forth, in perfect tandem with the crash of the waves.

Hetty's sitting in the chair next to him, her toes barely skimming the porch. As Kensi walks over, leaning against the banister, Hetty smiles and stands, dipping her head in greeting as she walks back in the house. Deeks slowly turns his head, watching as she goes before facing Kensi.

He gives her that lazy smile, looking up at her through shaggy curls. "Am I in trouble?"

Kensi looks at him questioningly, crossing her arms over her chest, adjusting her shoulders. "Why would you be in trouble?"

Deeks scrunches his face, shrugging as he looks back out at the beach. "Don't know. Just paranoid I guess." Nothing could be closer to the truth. Paranoia seems to have unwillingly been embraced by the entire team. Each of them constantly looking over their shoulders, studying strangers, checking light fixtures for hidden cameras. It's relentlessly tiring.

Kensi nods, unconsciously scooting closer towards him, stopping only when her leg hits his. She feels the muscles in his calf twitch against her thigh as he continues to rock the chair. "How're you feeling?" she asks, studying his face for a lie. His complexion's improved since leaving the station, his breathing seems less labored.

"Better than before," he tells her truthfully, that lazy smile making a comeback. "I think being at the beach has helped."

"It's probably killing you that you can't surf," she jokes.

"Nah, look at that," he points to the ocean. "You can't surf in that. It's a blow out. Too choppy, no swells."

She turns looking at the short waves, perfect for jumping, not so good for surfing. They fall back into a comfortable silence. The waves, the gulls, the steady creek of the rocking chair's motion pressing into the treated wood of the porch. Peaceful. Until another flock lands on the beach, and Monty's off again.

"Is he okay?" Kensi asks, turning to watch the dog's antics.

"Hopefully he just needs to walk it out," Deeks tells her, his eyes closing as he rests his head against the back of the chair. "As long as he's running around, acting like a fool, he's good. I'd be worried if he were laid up, acting like he was hurt. He's a big baby sometimes," he says lovingly.

"Sounds familiar," Kensi mutters, forcing a smile when Deeks opens one eye, attempting to scowl. It sounds _too_ familiar. Kensi's dealt with Deeks whining about the smallest of injuries, if a paper cut can even count as an injury. Yet, let the man get shot, then it's no big deal. Let's all put on a tough face and pretend it's not that bad.

Watching as Monty settles back on the porch, sand coating his legs, Kensi wonders who taught whom that annoying trick.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

It's just after eight in the morning when Sam and Callen pull into the parking lot of the Oinkster, a small restaurant with an A-frame roof and bright red paint. The parking lot's empty, all the employees parked around back. It's too early for chicken or burgers.

They have to knock for several minutes before a small waitress comes and looks at them nervously through the glass door.

"Agents Hanna and Callen," Sam says, smiling nicely, hoping she doesn't ask to see their badges. "We have a meeting with your manager."

Josh Randolph isn't a very impressive man, at least not through appearances. He's tall and lanky, his hair so blonde it looks white beneath the kitchen's bright fluorescent lights. Like Miranda Kimbrell, he's completely surprised to learn that Andrew Nichols is still alive.

"Guy never even picked up his last paycheck," he tells the agents, the enthusiasm and disbelief with which he says it tells Sam and Callen that's a big deal.

"Well, that probably would have ruined his plans, seeing how he was trying to fake his death," Callen points out, barely succeeding in masking the sarcastic tone. Sam smirks, but doesn't say anything as Josh begins to speak.

"I know, but…you had to have _known_ Drew to get it. The guy was always asking for extra shifts, begging to get overtime. He was always desperate for money. I used to have to stop him from harassing the other employees, asking them to borrow money and stuff. I mean, if the guy was going to fake his own death you'd think he'd have at least waited till after payday."

Callen purses his lips, nodding, having no other choice but to agree with Josh's logic. "Did Drew have a girlfriend? Petite, blonde, rode a motorcycle?"

"I don't know about the motorcycle, and I'm not sure if they were dating, but he used to hang out with this blonde chick. Hang on," he holds up a finger, turning over his shoulder and yelling back into the kitchen. "Hey! Kassie!"

"What?" is the angry reply from a dark haired woman, her bright, blue eyes peering from behind the expo station.

"What was that girl's name that was hanging around with Drew?" Josh asks, apparently accustomed to the cook's crass demeanor.

"The slut?" the woman asks, earning a nod from her manager. "Natalia." She sneers, saying the name slowly, as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "She was Brazilian or something." She rolls her eyes, obviously not remembering Natalia fondly.

Josh doesn't even say thanks, simply turns back towards Sam and Callen, big smile on his face. "Natalia," he says, "She wasn't really a 'slut', just…she liked to dress provocatively," he defends, taking sides with a woman whose name he hadn't even known.

"Do you remember ever seeing her around after Nichols supposed death?" Sam asks. Josh tilts his head, his eyes looking upward as he scans his memory.

"No," he finally says. "She stopped coming by after Drew died."

Sam shares a knowing look with Callen before extending his hand to Josh, "Thanks for your time, Mr. Randolph."

They begin to walk to their borrowed car, Josh locking the door behind them with a distinct metallic clink. "So," Callen begins, "Is Nichols the mastermind behind all of this, or is Natalia? Because I gotta say, I'm not seeing a broke fry-cook having the know how to pull this all off. Not to mention it'd help my ego a little to know we got hoodwinked by a South American spy instead of Spongebob."

Sam stops, his hand poised over the door handle as he looks at his partner, a bemused smile on his face. "Did you just say 'hoodwinked'?"

Callen rolls his eyes. He pulls his door open, slouching into the passenger seat as he calls out to Sam. "Too much time spent in close quarters with Eric," he explains, trying to brush off the momentarily uncharacteristic word.

"What about Spongebob?" Sam asks, easing the car out onto Colorado Boulevard, heading west towards the beach. "What's your excuse for that?"

"That would be you, my friend," Callen tells him matter-of-factly. "I can name all the Disney princesses too, all thanks to you and your kids."

Sam just smiles as he waits for the traffic light to change.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The number of visas and passports issued to women by the name of Natalia out of South and Central America is absolutely ridiculous. Even limiting the search to Brazil, the list is too long.

Eric sighs heavily, raising his hands to rub at his face, only to stop half way when he remembers the burn. It's dulled down some, at least on his neck and face, and it really only hurts when he turns his head. His arm, however, burns like a mother.

"This is insane," he thinks out loud, his fingers dancing in the air over the keyboard, his mind trying to think of a way to shorten the list. "This might not even be her real name." He jumps when Nell leans over his shoulder, her face inches from his.

"There's too many parameters," she says, her eyes darting through the list of names. She pulls out the chair next to him, sitting close so she can see the computer screen, her knees touching his. "Try narrowing it down to women who weren't in the country the day Ferreira was killed," she tells him, referring to the arms dealer linking the mystery Natalia to NCIS.

Eric stares at her a moment, trying to make sense of the odd request. She smiles politely, tilting her head in that encouraging manner. "Think about it, Eric. Her prints were found on the packages as soon as they crossed the border." His eyes widen, realization dawning. He turns back to the computer, nodding as his hands begin to fly, typing hurriedly.

"She had to have touched them before they got to America." His smile falters a little as the list still numbers in the hundreds. He bites his lower lip, his pointer finger tapping lightly on the "j" key as he thinks.

"What date was Nichols supposedly killed?" he asks, looking to Nell for an answer.

"July 2, 2010."

Eliminating the names of women that were out of the country at that time under the assumption that she was there to help Nichols fake his death, Eric produces a slightly more manageable list. He brings up the pictures of the thirty-seven Natalias, smiling as he looks to Nell.

"Okay, how would you define a 'hussy'?" he asks her, playing off the only physical description they'd been given.

Nell tightens her lips to keep from smiling as she looks at the pictures displayed on the screen. "Not like that," she tells him, pointing to a woman who has to be close to eighty years old. Eric laughs and quickly narrows the parameters to exclude women who'd be too old or too young.

Thirty-seven magically changes to nineteen. The remaining photos they eliminate individually, judging on whether or not the woman's physical attributes would garner the obvious jealousy and disdain supplied by Mrs. Jepson and the fry-cook as well as the admiration of the Oinkster's manager. Nell bites her tongue to keep from voicing her opinion on how degrading the whole process seems.

Finally, they narrow it down to nine women who, given the right wardrobe, could most likely fill the mold of "slutty, trampy, hussy". They email the list to the SCPD, hoping Mrs. Jepson can give a positive ID.

"_If_ her name's really Natalia," Eric points out, not wanting to get his hopes up too much.

"If her name's really Natalia," Nell agrees.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Agent Sorensen brought take-out when he came to relieve Agent Ryker for guard duty, or baby-sitting as Deeks put it, saving the team from having to cook. Containers of low-mien and rice, tangerine chicken and Mongolian beef are passed around, everyone enjoying the small distraction.

Someone must have mentioned that there'd be a dog, because Agent Sorensen holds up a can of Alpo dog food, a can opener in his hand. "Is this okay?" he asks Deeks, not wanting to give the dog the wrong kind of food.

"Yeah, man. Thanks," Deeks says, stopping from dumping a portion of his lunch into the dog bowl. Agent Sorensen simply smiles and gestures to the small bag near the sink, indicating that there's more than one can.

Aside from waiting for SCPD to get back to them with an answer as to whether or not Mrs. Jepson recognized any of the Natalias Nell and Eric had narrowed down, there's nothing they can do but sit down and enjoy their lunch. Sort of.

"G, you stole my fortune cookie," Sam says as he reaches for the container of rice. Callen looks up, the fortune cookie in hand.

"Your fortune cookie? They're not assigned, Sam. You just reach in and pick one."

"No," Sam disagrees, setting down the rice and gesturing to the pile of cookies in the middle of the table. "You dump them on the table, and then whichever one's closest to your plate belongs to you. _That_ one was near my plate, and you took it. It's the rule of the fortune cookie."

Callen gives Sam a look comprised of equal parts frown and smirk. "According to whom?"

"Everybody. It's one of those general knowledge things. Kinda like whoever's closest to the taxi gets it, or…that it's rude to point."

"Or pee in the pool," Deeks chimes in, attempting to help Sam's argument.

"That's disgusting," Kensi says around a mouthful of low-mien.

"That's why you shouldn't do it." Deeks smiles, pointing at her with his chopsticks. "Kind of like talking with your mouth full." In response, Kensi opens her mouth, showing Deeks a display of half-chewed noodles.

"That's…awesome," he smirks, ducking his head as he laughs that breathless laugh.

"As I was saying," Sam continues, "You stole my fortune cookie."

Callen smiles, popping half the cookie in his mouth, watching Sam frown in reaction. Sam simply shakes his head, stabbing at the rice with the serving spoon.

"You're supposed to eat the cookie after you finish eating your food," Eric says, having watched the verbal sparring between partners.

"See," Sam says, pointing to Eric. "Even Eric understands the rules of the fortune cookie."

"I'd say 'thanks' but I think I was just insulted," Eric mutters, looking questioningly at Sam, who only smiles in response.

A small chime from the laptop causes both Nell and Eric's heads to spin around, necks craning towards the barely visible screen.

"I got it," Nell says, already halfway there while Eric winces, his neck protesting the sudden movement. She reads over the email, smiling as she turns the screen around where everyone can see it. "Your Inn Keeper made an ID."

Everyone stops eating, their lunches forgotten as Nell brings over the laptop, setting it between boxes of chicken and beef. "They ran Facial Rec, that's what took so long. According to her passport, her name is Natalia Cruz from Brazil, but the DMV has her listed as Natalia Jones."

"Did they send an address," Hetty asks as Sam, Callen, and Kensi all stand, car keys already in hand.

"Malibu," Nell answers, writing the address down on a takeout menu.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Natalia Cruz/Jones is obviously doing well in whatever business she deals in. The large beach house puts the secondary safe house to shame. The agents had arrived to find Malibu police waiting for them, SWAT already ready to go.

Bullet proof vests in place, Sam leads the way, busting through the front doors, their entrance echoing around the large foyer. Every light in the house is on, ceiling fans circling lazily, TVs filtering from distant rooms.

Efficiently, SWAT makes their way through the house, yelling 'clear' as they go, securing each floor. It isn't until Sam and Kensi join Callen in the kitchen that they lower their guns, disappointed but not surprised to have not found Natalia. Sam's looking in the utilities closet, studying the opened breaker box. "Why's this open?" he asks.

A member of SWAT walks in, his rifle hanging off his shoulder. "Agents, you need to see this."

They follow him up a spiral, wrought iron staircase into a large master bedroom, complete with fireplace. Several officers are standing around, all gathered near the open double doors leading to the master bath.

The smell is strong and it meets them before they even walk through the door. Burnt hair, singed flesh.

He's lying in the bathtub, eyes open and red, the blood vessels having popped. Veins spider out and bruise his skin, covering his body, giving him a marbled look. Blood trickles from his ears and nose.

The bathtub is full of water, the blow dryer resting at his feet, the warning tag floating on top—"KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN AND WATER" printed in bright red.

Kensi takes a step closer to Andrew Nichols, frowning as she studies the writing decorating his body.

Someone had taken red lipstick, writing "MEET PHANTOM DREW" across his forehead, "POP GOES THE WEASEL" on his chest.

Not knowing what to say, Kensi turns to Sam and Callen. They simply stare back in return.

TBC...


	9. And Then There Were--Wait, How Many?

**I want to thank everyone for simply being awesome, and a shout out to SilverSentinal21 for her help/advice/encouragement.**

* * *

Nell puts the last of the plates into the dish rack, her fingers pruned and reddened by the warm water. Eric's still searching the NCIS database, trying to come up with other possible leads for where Natalia Cruz could be, wanting to be prepared should the Malibu beach house turn up empty. Deeks is sitting by him, his eyes darting across the screen as he tries to keep up with Eric's fast pace.

Hetty's standing in the doorway, watching as Agent Sorenson checks the perimeter. The beach is open, not giving a lot of places to hide. Nell studies the stoic woman, knowing that behind that seemingly calm façade, Hetty's going crazy with worry. Nell's worried about Callen, Kensi, and Sam. It's very possible Natalia could be expecting them, the house rigged to explode. Nell knows that possibility, and many more, have passed through Hetty's mind.

She reaches in the sink, pulling the plug before drying her hands on a starfish covered dishtowel. She's thinking of what to say, what she can tell Hetty to quell the motherly concern for her agents when the sound of Agent Sorenson's phone ringing draws her attention away.

Agent Sorenson walks into the kitchen, Hetty close behind as he turns the phone's speaker on before setting it on the counter. "All right, Callen. Everyone's here."

"Nichols is dead," Callen begins, his voice echoing in the large, open kitchen. "Natalia wasn't here." The news is met with momentary silence, everyone trying to wrap their minds around what he's just said, searching for the logic in that scenario.

"She killed him?" Deeks asks, "Why help him fake his death only to kill him later?"

"There's more," Callen says as he moves the phone, putting it on speaker. He gestures to Kensi, inviting her to take control.

"Eric, remember when you referred to Nichols as 'Phantom Drew'?"

"Yeah," Eric says slowly, not seeing the relevance.

"Did you ever say it in front of Officers Daniels or Sharpe?" Her tone is hopeful, kind of like she already knows the answer but desperately wants to be wrong.

Eric begins to shake his head despite the fact that she can't see him. "No, I'm pretty sure I only said it that once. Why?"

"She wrote 'Meet Phantom Drew' on his forehead," Sam informs them, everyone in the kitchen once again going silent.

"The cabin must have been bugged," Deeks concludes, looking towards the others for confirmation.

"No, I personally chose the cabin," Hetty says, "It was last minute, no one else knew about it."

That little line between Nell's eyebrows deepens as she frowns in concentration. "Then we had to have brought the bug in ourselves. She could have bugged one of our bags, or…something."

"Eric," Callen says, bringing the kitchen's attention back to the phone on the counter. "Can you check Kaleidoscope? Maybe now that we know what she looks like, we might get a hit."

"I can't," Eric says, his vice full of regret. "This system isn't equipped with Kaleidoscope. I'd have to be back in Ops."

"So how do we find her?" Deeks asks. Nobody has an answer.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Deeks holds his breath, counting the seconds in his head. Seven…Eight…. hiccup.

He bites back the groan, his arms wrapped tightly around a throw pillow held against his chest, willing the unwanted contractions to stop. His eyes are closed tightly, determined not to cry out. He's been hurt worse, but he's usually doped to the gills on pain meds. Having the freaking hiccups and a bullet hole in your side is about as much fun as riding a roller coaster with a migraine.

A small, short rattle causes him to open his eyes. Callen's standing in front of him, a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol in one hand, an unopened bottle of water held in his other.

"It's all I could find," he says apologetically. Deeks gives him a crooked, thankful smile and reaches for the bottle, flinching as another hiccup shakes his diaphragm. "Thanks, man."

Callen eases down in the large recliner, facing Deeks sitting on the couch. He waits until Deeks has swallowed a small handful of Tylenol, probably more than is recommended, before deciding to speak.

"You do know you're not on duty, right?"

Deeks looks over at him, his brow furrowing as he sits the closed bottle of water between him and the arm rest. "What?"

Callen leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies Deeks. He keeps his voice low, the conversation between just the two of them. "You've been shot, Deeks. The only reason you're here and not in a hospital or at home in bed is because there's a psycho killer with your address," he pauses, making sure he has the other man's attention. "You have to take it easy. Quit trying to push yourself. It's not gonna help anybody, least of all you."

Deeks's eyes harden, but he doesn't say anything. He hears the truth in those words. It may be true, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. He's fully aware of his limitations at the moment. He's moving around a lot better than he thought he'd be, but truth is, it's best for him just to stay still. "I know," he finally admits, his eyes turning away from Callen, focusing on the black, reflective surface of the TV screen.

The computers and equipment had been recovered from the cabin and brought to the beach house. They can hear Eric and Nell talking in the kitchen, bouncing ideas off of one another, speaking a language all their own as they disassemble the equipment, looking for bugs and attempting to salvage parts. They know Hetty's somewhere talking to Vance, the phone held close as she updates the director on Nichols's most recent death and the discovery that Natalia Cruz is actually the stalker.

Sam's on the back porch talking with Agent Sorenson, discussing possible ways to bring Natalia in without anyone else getting hurt. Kensi's sitting on the front steps, tossing a ball onto the beach, Monty bringing it back to her. She uses monotony to clear her head, open her mind up to think. Usually, she tries running, putting extra hours in at the gym, but now she sits near the ocean, playing fetch with a dog.

Callen had seen the worry in her eyes when they found Nichols's body. He had felt it too when she explained the significance of the nickname, saw the momentary panic before her training and stubborn self-determination took control.

"She's worried about you," Callen says, his voice still low. He sees Deeks's eyes dart to the open door, watching as Kensi brings her arm back, preparing to launch the ball towards the beach. To his credit, Deeks doesn't even pretend not to know to whom Callen's referring.

"She's my partner," Deeks says, the three words being answer enough. They both ignore the latest hiccup, the failed attempt to hide the grunt of pain.

Callen's mouth tightens into a thin line, his eyes squinted as they follow the same path as Deeks's, going out the door to the woman trying to wrestle a saliva-covered ball from a dog's mouth. "Then you know she's going to keep worrying about you until you prove that you're not going to do something stupid."

"Stupid like what?" Deeks challenges, his eyes unwillingly shooting to Callen.

"Like hurting yourself worse." Callen leans back in the chair, his arms resting loosely on the armrests, his head cushioned by the soft fabric of the recliner. "Look, Sam's been hurt before, and you've met the man. He can make a stubborn bull seem compliant. All I'm saying is, if it were my partner," he uses that title, comparing their partnership to his and Sam's so as not to allude that there could be anything more between Deeks and Kensi outside of partners, "I'd want to know he was okay. It'd be the only way I could focus on doing my job."

Deeks looks down at his hands, clearing his throat. "Truthfully, I think I might have reached my limit," he whispers, his voice so low Callen almost hadn't heard it. Deeks quickly looks towards the front porch, quickly glancing over his shoulder, confirming that no one else had heard.

"Then rest, Deeks. We got this," Callen assures him, smiling contently.

Deeks leans into the corner of the couch, stretching his legs out across the cushions. He grins turning his head to look at Callen. "This was kinda your way of saying you're worried about me too, huh?"

"I'm worried about Kensi," Callen half-lies, gesturing towards the door with his chin. "I need her on her feet, not worrying about you." He smiles, letting Deeks know he isn't completely serious.

"Whatever, admit it. You're concerned about me." Deeks's smile grows as he holds his breath, attempting to fight off another hiccup.

Callen shakes his head as he leans forward, preparing to stand. "You're an idiot, Deeks," he says jokingly, stopping to slap Deeks on the shoulder. "But like Sam said, you're _our_ idiot."

Deeks's smile doesn't even falter as he turns to watch Callen walk away, asking "He says that?"

"All the time," is Callen's answer.

"But, he says it fondly right? You know, like with love?" Deeks calls out over the back of the couch. Callen doesn't turn around, hiding his smile from Deeks, pretending as though he doesn't hear the detective's questions.

"Callen?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Would this count as an 'eureka' moment?" Eric asks, the remains of a charred laptop spread out before him. His face is covered in soot, his fingers grimy from the ash and debris.

He's holding what remains of the computer's heat sink, a small, black nub melted to the metal. Nell leans forward, studying the object. She smiles, looking upwards and grinning crookedly. "I do believe it is."

Eric grins, his tongue darting out before tucking in his bottom lip. He whistles loudly, causing the house's occupants to jump unexpectedly at the sudden, loud, and secretly missed noise.

He grins proudly as everyone quickly makes their way to the dining room table, all without question.

"I take it you found our bug, Mr. Beale," Hetty says, taking in Nell and Eric's smudged appearance before letting her eyes fall to the blackened object in his hands.

Eric gives Hetty a short nod in response before turning to the rest of the team. "Good news or bad news first?"

"I think we could use some good right about now," Deeks tells him from his position near the door, not straying too far from the couch.

"I found the bug." He holds up the computer part, pointing to the melted plastic. "It was hidden in the laptop, she cold have been listening the entire time."

Callen frowns, thinking over everything she could have heard. "That doesn't sound like very good news, Eric."

Eric gives a nervous smile, his fingers thrumming against the soot-covered piece. "Compared to what I'm about to tell you, it is." Everyone remains silent, waiting for him to continue. He swallows nervously, not liking to be the bearer of bad news. "Whoever put this bug in, had to have done it while it was still at Ops."

"You're saying someone with NCIS is working with Natalia?" Kensi asks, her anger evident in her tone, the sudden stiffness in her stance. "That one of our own people is trying to kill us?"

"It would explain a lot," Nell chimes in, supporting Eric's assumption. "It would answer how she knew where we lived, where we'd be on our days off. _And_ it's the only way someone could have planted the bug."

Deeks shakes his head in frustration, pushing from the doorframe as he takes a step closer to the table. "But if Natalia has someone on the inside, why waste time with all the theatrics? Why not just go ahead and finish us off? They've been watching us for at least two months. It wouldn't have taken 'em this long to figure out our weakness, figure out when we're most vulnerable. By all accounts, we should be dead already."

"And it is lucky for us, Mr. Deeks, that Natalia Cruz seems to have a flare for the dramatic." Hetty keeps her voice calm, but the truth of her words, the knowledge that it is luck alone that has kept them alive, sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room, the hairs on the backs of their necks rising.

"So, this means we're back to two people trying to kill us?" Eric asks, wanting to make sure everyone's on the same page, that everything's been clarified.

"Yeah," Callen agrees, running his hand over the back of his neck, the muscles tight and burning with stress and tension. "We're back to two."

* * *

**I know it's short, and I apologize. Chapter 10 will be coming soon...**


	10. A Guide to Scrambling Bad Eggs

**I'm kind of sad, because this story's almost over. It just means I'll have to write another one. It's insane how much fun I'm having with this thing. **

**Heads up, Bard15 said something about "forcing their hand" and SilverSentinal21 wanted a Callen/Eric moment. So I forced the two together.  
**

* * *

The kit's spread out on the counter. Gauze, tape, ointment, scissors, all he'll need ready at his fingertips. It's awkward having to do everything with his left hand, but he doesn't really have any other choice.

A few of the blisters near his elbow have popped, staining the loosely wrapped gauze a yellowish tinge. He hisses as he pulls it away from his arm, the dried material sticking to the sensitive skin, the damaged flesh breaking away with the gauze.

He takes a steadying breath as the fresh air renews the ache in his arm. The feel of the antibiotic cream is cool, instantly easing the fresh sting of the burn. He spreads it evenly, careful not to suffocate the wound.

The sound of the floorboards shifting outside the bedroom catches his attention. Eric peeks his head through the bathroom door just as Callen walks into the room making his way to the bed. Callen's reaching for the extra pillows when he notices Eric watching him, the cream on his arm shining, a fresh roll of gauze in his hand.

"Need any help?" Callen offers, gesturing to the new bandage in Eric's left hand. Eric looks down at his arm, trying to determine whether or not he'll actually be able to wrap it effectively on his own.

"If you don't mind." He smiles shyly as he holds the gauze out to Callen. Dropping the pillows back on the bed, Callen walks to the bathroom door, taking the gauze as he examines Eric's arm.

"I bet this hurts like a bitch," Callen says, successfully sounding casual and sympathetic all at the same time.

"It's up there," Eric admits, holding the end of the gauze against his palm with his thumb as Callen begins to loosely wrap it around his arm. "Definitely beats that time I slammed my thumb in the car door." Seeing the amused look on Callen's face, Eric quickly adds, "Don't ask."

Callen simply shrugs, continuing to work the gauze further up Eric's arm, making sure not to make it too tight. "Deeks has a bottle of Tylenol."

"Yeah, he already shared," Eric tells him. Eric hadn't even had to ask. Deeks had simply tossed the bottle at him, catching him off guard as he gracelessly caught it against his chest. "I think Nell's got it, last I checked."

Callen nods as he reaches for the medical tape to secure the gauze in place. He fights back a yawn, his body overtaxed, and raging war against his stubborn determination to keep going. He can't remember the last time he slept, the last time any of them aside from Deeks had a good six hours of uninterrupted sleep-Deeks had only managed to get the rest because his body's trying to recover, and what he got hadn't been enough.

He can see the fatigue starting to take effect on everyone. Standing beneath the bright lights in the bathroom, Callen can make out the dark circles hiding behind Eric's glasses. They need to hurry and figure out what the hell's going on so they can rest—something they've more than earned.

"Now would be a good time for you or Hetty to come up with one of your weird ass plans," Eric says around a timid smile, drawing Callen's thoughts back to the present. Callen cuts the excess gauze from Eric's arm, tossing the scissors and tape back on the counter before crossing his arms and tilting his head, playful smile forming on his lips.

"Did you just refer to Hetty's plans as 'weird ass'?"

Eric's eyes widen slightly as he realizes what it his he's just said. Nervously, he peeks out the bathroom door, almost expecting Hetty to be standing right outside. When it seems as though the coast is clear, he turns back to Callen, face completely serious.

"Please don't tell her I said that," he begs, whispering conspiratorially.

Callen uncrosses his arms, fighting back a smile as he meets Eric's eyes, forcing the expression to match the seriousness he sees in Eric's. "Eric, I would never do that. I actually like you." He allows a small smile when he sees embarrassed relief take the place of worry.

"Besides," Callen continues as he makes his way back to the pillows on the bed, "I'd only wish the wrath of Henrietta Lange on my worst enemy."

"Such as Natalia Cruz?" Eric guesses, leaning against the bathroom's doorframe. Callen points at Eric, giving him a look that says he hit the nail on the head. Eric just smiles as he turns around to clean up the first-aid kit, leaving Callen to gather the spare pillows.

Callen's halfway down the hallway when he hears Eric saying his name again. He turns to find the tech standing near the bedroom door, one hand resting on the doorframe like it's a lifeline, anchoring him to safety.

"Do you play poker?" Eric asks. Even though he's smiling, Callen can tell Eric's nervous about asking, peaking his interest even more.

"Do you?" Callen ask in return, trying to imagine Eric sitting at a table with a pair of dark sunglasses, a cigar, and a pile of chips.

"Yeah," Eric answers with enthusiasm, his hand falling from the frame, deeming it's safe to continue. "I used to compete in tournaments… before I got banned from Vegas," he finishes, his smile falling near the end. Callen quirks an eyebrow, impressed and intrigued by this new bit of information.

"Anyway," Eric continues before Callen can ask _why _he's been banned from Vegas, "In poker, sometimes you've got nothing and you gotta bluff—"

"And sometimes you've got to force their hand," Callen finishes, nodding as he begins to catch on. "We've got nothing and you think we should force Natalia's hand."

Eric smiles, a full smile free of embarrassment. Still holding the pillows, Callen shakes his head in amusement, "Looks like Hetty and I aren't the only ones with weird ass ideas."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Hetty's sitting in the recliner, a pen in her hand as she studies the long list of names before her. It had taken two pages to write the names of every one of her employees. Two pages worth of suspects. Two pages worth of reasons to be completely overcome with emotion.

Hetty likes to think she knows her employees, better than they know themselves in some cases. Ninety-nine percent of the people who work for her she had personally vetted, sought out, and invited to join her team. The small percentage she hadn't chosen had been assigned to the LA office by the last two directors, Jenny Shepherd and Leon Vance. Even then, Hetty felt as though she could trust them.

Now, watching as Deeks shifts uncomfortably on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to find a position in which his side isn't hurting, Hetty wonders whether or not her lapse in judgment could result in the death of one of her agents. It's already come close more times than she cares to count.

"D'you narrow it down, yet?" Deeks asks sleepily from the couch. He's lying on his back, one arm tossed lazily across his eyes blocking out the afternoon sun shining through the open windows. Hetty isn't sure if Nell or Kensi is to blame for the blanket tucked comfortably around his sides, cocooning him into the cushions.

She sets the pen down, folding her hands together over her lap. "Narrow what down, Mr. Deeks?"

"Who you think the mole could be," he answers, not even bothering to remove his arm from his eyes. "You were writing for a while. Figured that's what you were doing."

"I was," she admits, letting her eyes fall back to the long list of names. "And I haven't, to answer your question. I'm ashamed to admit I haven't a clue as to whom the mole could be. I was foolishly under the impression that I knew each person that worked for me."

Deeks finally moves, one blue eye peeking at her from beneath his arm. "Are you seriously telling me you're taking blame for this? 'Cause it sounds like you are."

"I am not naïve, Mr. Deeks. I am responsible for each person on this list. At least one of them is conspiring with a psychopath to kill us, and is partly responsible for the deaths of two men that we know of, one of them being a police officer."

Deeks lets his arm cover his eyes again. "So you got a few bad eggs, doesn't mean you should blame it all on the chicken." His tone is soft and sincere, not matching the words.

Hetty smiles despite her desire not to. "Did you just call me a hen?" She sees the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile, one shoulder shifting with a shrug.

"If it makes you feel any better," he begins, not attempting to apologize or deny it, "that analogy leaves all of us being your chicks."

Hetty can't help the small laugh that escapes her as he says it, nor the feeling of love that the comparison brings forth. "Thank you, Marty Deeks," she says warmly, feeling significantly better than she had moments before, despite the dilemma the team still faces.

"You're welcome, Henrietta Lange."

Once again picking up her pen, she returns her attention to the daunting task at hand. Her eyes scan the list, searching for that bad egg. She's about twenty names in when she recognizes the sound of someone walking towards her, the smooth gait telling her who it is.

"Are you trying to sneak up on me, Mr. Callen?" she teases, smiling when she hears a stutter in the gait. Deeks lifts his head, looking over the armrest to see Callen approaching with an armful of pillows.

Callen smiles, opening his mouth to retaliate with 'like anyone could sneak up on you,' but seeing how Natalia Cruz had managed to do just that, he quickly changes his mind. "I'm not that skilled," he says instead, holding up the pillows for Deeks to see, gesturing for the detective to sit up.

Deeks pulls himself up, taking the offered pillows and tucking them behind and beside him, making him look like the poster-boy for comfort on the oversized couch. He settles back down, smiling contently as he sighs dramatically, showing his appreciation.

Hetty watches the exchange in silence, waiting until Callen takes the empty chair across from her before setting her pen back down.

"I'm not going to like this am I?" she asks, seeing that forced look of innocence Callen only wears when he's about to ask her for something he knows she won't like.

"Like what?" Callen says, feigning ignorance.

"Mr. Callen, I know you," she says, looking at him over the edge of her glasses, her elbows resting on the armrests, her fingers steepled, "You're about to ask me to allow you to go forth with some cockamamie idea."

Callen tilts his head in thought. Looking to Deeks, he asks, "Is 'cockamamie' Hetty-Speech for 'weird ass'?"

Deeks purses his lips, considering his answer. "I hope not," he says after a moment, fake sincerity playing out, "'Cause she uses it when she's talking about me all the time." He manages to hold his smile at bay long enough for Hetty to look back at Callen.

"You've done it before," she says, pointing an accusing finger at him, "And you're about to do it again. I can see it in your eyes."

"Man, Momma Hen knows her chicks," Deeks says, looking back and forth between Hetty and Callen.

Callen simply glares at Deeks. "Don't be cheeky," he says, purposefully borrowing one of Hetty's preferred adjectives for the man. Deeks just laughs as Callen turns back to Hetty.

Feeling as though it's best to just come out and say it, Callen begins the task of convincing Hetty of the plan. "I think we're sitting on a pair of twos, and we need to bluff," he says, continuing with Eric's poker metaphor.

Hetty stares at him, her eyes squinted as she considers what he's asking. "And what if she calls our bluff, Mr. Callen?"

"She won't," he assures her.

"She might," she counters.

"There are always risks in poker, Hetty."

"But I don't like the idea of gambling with your lives, Mr. Callen." Her sharp tone makes it clear he'll have to try harder.

"Hetty," he leans forward, eyes pleading with her to understand, "this woman's been watching us, _all of us_. She's managed to turn one of our people against us, and we've got no way of knowing who to trust. This is the only way."

She doesn't move, doesn't give anything away as she thinks through the possibilities, the risks. Callen knows he has her when she sighs heavily, her hands falling to her lap. He knows better than to smile in victory.

"What do you have in mind?" she asks.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Agent Sorenson's outside with Agent Ryker, securing the perimeter. The team's all seated around the living room, Hetty, Deeks, and Callen maintaining their previous spots. Kensi's sitting at Deeks' feet, Nell situated beside her on the couch's armrest. Eric's leaning over the back of the couch. Sam's on the floor, his back against the wall, his arms resting on his bent knees.

"So, what's the plan?" he asks again, now that everyone's in the same room.

"We're gonna try and lure either Natalia or the mole out into the open," Callen explains, looking to Hetty to see if she's really okay with it. She's not looking at him, choosing instead to watch the reactions of the rest of the team. "Assuming the mole's on top of his

game, it'd be safe to say that should anything concerning us cross the wire, the mole would report back to Natalia."

"You want to lay breadcrumbs," Kensi says, happy to finally be doing something other than sitting around.

Callen nods, encouraged by Kensi's apparent enthusiasm. "We'll have Nell and Eric send a hackable message to Director Vance and LAPD saying we have reason to believe that this safe house has been compromised, and that we're being moved to a secondary location."

"Technically, it'd be like a third-ary location, seeing how _this_ is the secondary safe house," Deeks points out, only to receive a few eye rolls, a couple of smiles, and a nudge from his partner, urging him not to interrupt.

"We'll act as though we're moving, keep our eyes peeled, and hope one of them shows up," Callen finishes.

"LAPD has already agreed to have a SWAT team in position upon your arrival, you'll be wearing vests and will be armed," Hetty says, finally deciding to speak up. "Agent Ryker will accompany you, while Agent Sorenson and Mr. Deeks will remain here with myself and Mr. Beale."

Deeks rubs his eyes tiredly. He hadn't liked the idea the first time he heard it, he likes it even less now that they're actually preparing to carry it out. Nell's been hurt. Yes, it's only a graze, but he knows she's still hurting. He knows Kensi's perfectly capable of holding her own, but he'd feel better knowing he had her back. "This is insane," he says.

"Name one of our plans that hasn't been," Sam challenges, sensing Deeks's discomfort.

"Uh…give me a minute." Deeks squints his eyes as he tries to think. All that comes to mind are faked deaths, false neo-Nazis, laser rooms, a broken Internet, grenade launchers, and the name Fern.

After several moments of silence and no obvious choice, Callen laughs. "Exactly."

TBC...

**There's only a few more chapters left.**


	11. Fool Me Once, Shame On Me

**A little longer wait, but a little longer chapter. Maybe one or two left, depends how I structure it.**

* * *

Monty's sitting in the back of the SUV, his head leaning over the seat, turning side to side to look between Nell and Kensi. His leash is held tightly in Kensi's hand, the service vest having been lost in the fire. Occasionally, he steps back to look out the window, the numerous people and large buildings catching his attention before he settles back in his spot, panted breath heating the shoulders of the two women seated in front of him.

It had been decided to bring the dog with them, not only as an extra measure of protection should the pseudo safe house be rigged with explosives, but also to further the belief that the team is truly moving. It's already going to be odd having three members missing. The absence of Monty would only expand the sense that something's 'off'.

The safe house is actually a hotel, the security desk having been taken over by undercover LAPD officers, each watching the cameras, searching for Natalia Cruz. Agent Ryker's following the SUV in an unmarked car, SWAT's positioned throughout the hotel, snipers waiting from nearby rooftops, neighboring rooms rented out for backup.

Kensi feels butterflies kick starting her nerves and she wants to laugh. She needs this plan to work, she needs to be in control again. They pull into the parking garage, passing a red pickup truck and her mind flashes back to the rest stop, to the moments before Deeks and Nell were shot. It's a different model, too many bumper stickers, but it still makes her heart beat faster. She hears a woman's laugh and she turns, expecting to see a mess of platinum blond curls. Instead, she's met with the sight of a short brunette, her hair hanging past her shoulders, large sunglasses resting on a button nose, her shirt pulled tight over an obviously pregnant belly.

Kensi turns back around, forgetting the expecting mother talking on the phone and forces herself to focus as Sam maneuvers the SUV into a parking spot. He kills the engine and looks around the garage, studying the few people walking about, Callen doing the same.

"Ready?" Callen asks, waiting long enough to receive three short nods before opening his door. He stands outside the car, not moving until the others are standing beside him. He and Sam reach into the back of the SUV for their 'luggage'. "Let's move," he says, starting towards the elevator.

The hotel is nice with its bright colors and smiling faces—obviously designed to cater to tourists. Sam leads the way, walking through the lobby, past the front desks, and towards the large brass elevator doors. Nell pushes the button, backing out of the way at the sound of a musical 'ding' as the elevator doors open, a horde of people impatiently streaming out.

Kensi grips Monty's leash tighter, pulling him close when a few errant snippets of conversation drift back to her as the crowd dissipates.

"—didn't know dogs were allowed here."

"Can I pet the puppy, pleeeeaaase?"

"—leave fleas all over the—"

"—looks like a mutt, probably found-"

She bites the inside of her cheek, letting her fingers slide down the leash, tangling in the dog's soft fur. She doesn't know why, and really, she's too scared to question the reason, but she feels defensive of Monty, protective. Shielding him from the judging eyes of strangers, she leads her partner's dog into the elevators.

The room's on the seventh floor. It's a two-bedroom suite with a large common area, ideal for families. Sam and Callen set the bags they brought up on the counter, the distinctive clank of metal meeting marble echoing around the room. Kensi removes Monty's leash, freeing the dog to roam. Nell opens up a laptop equipped with facial recognition software and begins the task of synching it with the hotel's security feed. She's programmed it to compare images to photos of NCIS employees, hoping to get a match on Natalia or the mole should either show up.

Kensi goes forth, pulling the curtains closed, hiding the LA skyline, hiding them. "Well?" she asks, turning around to look at Callen. He opens one of the duffle bags, pushing aside the assortment of guns as he searches for the walkie-talkie. Until the mole's discovered and Ops is no longer off limits, all comms are down, leaving them to 'kick it old school' as Eric had said.

Callen switches to the pre-determined channel. "This is Twelve. Room's clear. Status?" There are a few moments of silence before the short, staccato sound of static fills the air.

"Twelve, this is Six. All's clear, no sighting of Red." Agent Ryker's nasal voice sounds distorted through the walkie-talkie, but the message is still clear—no sign of Natalia Cruz.

Callen meets Kensi's eyes, her posture deflating as she slumps onto the couch. She peels off her jacket, the slight bulge of Kevlar barely detectable beneath her shirt. "What if they didn't get it?" she asks, referring to the false messages.

"They got it," Callen assures her. This plan has to work; there is no Plan B, not this time. "They're not gonna show up as soon as we walk through the door. We've just got to wait them out," he says, sitting at the room's small table, preparing to do just that.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Deeks hates waiting, he always has. The beach house's ceiling, while nicer than his apartment's, is still boring to look at. It's been a few hours since the others left, and he hasn't moved from the couch. He's still wrapped up in the blanket surrounded by the pillows, falling in and out of sleep, his mind and body arguing over who's more stubborn.

He's exhausted, his body demanding sleep as it fights to repair itself. But his mind keeps going to the team, to his partner and the fact that they're out there _trying_ to bait a psychopath, one that seems to be one step ahead of them from the beginning. He watches as the ceiling fan lazily turns, counting each revolution until his eyes close of their own volition.

When he opens them again, he knows he'd fallen asleep, even if just for a few minutes. He's slightly on his good side, his face buried in a pillow, pressed against the back of the couch. He can hear someone in the kitchen, most likely Hetty or Eric, unless Agent Sorenson's decided to have a late afternoon snack.

Deeks yawns as he burrows deeper into the couch, pulling the covers up to his chin, trying to ignore the contrast he's feeling within. His skin's alternating between hot and cold, his insides feel stretched taught, the stitches on both his front and back pull with each movement he makes. When he was younger, he hated being sick or hurt. He always hated having to wait to heal, to get better. Not much has changed over the last thirty-odd years. Now, he has to wait again—both for his body to heal and for his partner to get back.

He's debating whether the rumbling in his stomach is enough to garner moving from the couch and venturing into the kitchen or if it'd be best to just ignore the hunger pangs and remain semi-buried in semi-comfort.

Leave it to Hetty to make up his mind for him.

She peaks over the back of the couch, once again surprising him with her stealth. She smiles her crooked Hetty smile, and whispers, "How are you feeling?"

Deeks readjusts his cheek on the pillow, the fluffy material squishing his face, his lips puckering from the soft pressure as he answers. "Like a skewered pig." His entire abdomen is a little swollen, and the only thing keeping him from panicking and demanding to be rushed to a hospital is the fact that the same thing had happened last time he was shot, albeit it was more in his chest area, but still swelling's swelling.

Hetty smiles at his honest answer. "Are you hungry, Mr. Deeks?" she whispers, reminding Deeks of the rumbling in his stomach. His grin is answer enough.

"Have you heard anything?" he asks, wondering if Callen and the others have had any luck with the plan as he struggles to unwrap himself from the mess of blankets and pillows.

"No," she whispers, pressing her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, causing Deeks to frown. Seeing his confusion, she points to the recliner. Deeks turns, looking over his shoulder to find Eric fast asleep, his feet propped on the coffee table, the laptop balanced in his lap, his head tilted back. "Let's not wake him. I was starting to think he'd never get any rest," Hetty says, extending her arm for Deeks to grab, assisting him into a standing position with surprising ease.

He follows her into the kitchen, waiting until they're out of earshot before continuing his inquisition. "Have you called to check on them yet?"

Hetty points to a stool, indicating Deeks should sit down before opening the fridge and pulling out the ingredients for an early supper. "No, I have not, nor will I be. The plan was for them to call us should anything happen, good or bad." She sets the gathered items on the counter before searching the cabinets for a skillet.

"But what if something happened and they can't call us?" Deeks asks, eyeing the odd variety of ingredients spread before him. Hetty simply sits a cup of tea in front him, patting his hand reassuringly.

"Nothing's happened. They are surrounded by LAPD officers, Mr. Deeks. Now drink." She points to the cup, steam still billowing over the rim.

"Yeah, I'm more of a coffee kind of guy. I like my tea a little more…greener. Or cold," he tells her, eyeing the bits of leaves beginning to settle at the bottom of the cup.

"It's chamomile, and few other things that should help you rest. A little trick I picked up in Tibet. Now, drink." She stares at him, head tilted as she watches, waiting. She doesn't move until he tentatively picks up the cup, dramatically blowing at the steam before taking a small sip.

"Yum," he says, his face distorted in disgust. Hetty raises her eyebrows in defeat before shaking her head, a small smile making its way back to her face.

She begins laying thick strips of bacon in the skillet, the meat instantly sizzling and filling the kitchen with a smell he's loved since childhood. "It's good for you Mr. Deeks. Think of it as a homeopathic remedy."

"That makes sense. Most medicines tastes funky to me." He takes another sip, finding the warmth comforting on his throat, the taste not so much. "Like three year old cough syrup."

The aroma taking over the kitchen continues to grow as Hetty begins to add to the skillet. Deeks had first thought she was making French toast until she began to place cheese and shredded turkey onto the egg-coated bread, laying the bacon on top before adding more bread.

By the time she sits the plate in front of him, syrup drizzling over the sides of the beyond awesome grilled cheese, the hunger pangs have grown from 'annoyance' to full blown 'demanding'.

"Is this another trick you picked up in Tibet?" he asks as he greedily digs his fork into the creation.

"Québec, actually," she tells him, scooting his cup of tea closer. Deeks has always known there's more to Hetty than meets the eye, it's a given—kind of like knowing the ocean's really deep. You've always been told it goes for miles, but you just sort of have to take the textbooks at their word. As Deeks shovels in his second bite, eyes closing in near ecstasy, he truly believes Hetty is like the ocean. Full of unknowns and more than likely to leave you in awe.

He's preparing to declare his undying love for her culinary skills, preparing to tell her Martha Stewart can kiss his ass when she sets a nearly empty bottle of extra-strength Tylenol next to the rapidly cooling cup of tea.

His jaw begins to slow, his chewing coming to a standstill as he looks at the bottle of medicine. He's suddenly reminded that he's got a bullet hole in his side, running clear through from back to front. For all of maybe ten minutes he had managed to forget, but now, his stomach satiated, his concerns for the team somewhat subsided, he's fully aware of the dull, constant throb.

"Make sure you finish your tea," she says, tapping her finger along the small saucer before turning back to the stove. Deeks gives the large mouthful a few more chews before swallowing, his hand extending to grasp the bottle, turning to see the label.

"Uh… you sure I can take these with your Tibetan Monk Tea?" he asks.

"I never said I acquired that recipe from Monks, Mr. Deeks, and yes, it is quite safe I assure you. The tea's made of natural ingredients, to help you sleep. I believe you'll be safe taking it with Tylenol." She says the last bit as though it were silly of him to ask.

Emptying the bottle into his hand, he quickly chases down the few pills with the Tibetan tea. He frowns, sticking his tongue out and using his finger to wipe away the few remaining dregs of tealeaves that refused to go down.

Hetty, choosing for the moment to ignore Deeks' display, takes the emptied cup and adds it to the other dishes to be done. "That will help you sleep," she tells him.

Deeks nods slowly, a suspicious smile forming as he glances to the living room. "Is that why Eric's passed out? You gave him some of the 'tasty' Monk Tea?"

"Yes, I did, and I don't remember him making such a fuss," she says as she climbs into the stool across from him, eyeing him like a mother would an ornery child.

"Well, he wouldn't," Deeks tells her matter-of-factly, "Guy's scared of you."

Hetty smiles teasingly, her hands folded in front of her. "And you're not, Mr. Deeks?"

It's that teasing smile that does it, like a cat smiling to a canary. Deeks has seen her do that quite often, and each time it's because she's already certain of the answer. "It's not fear, per se," he begins to explain nervously, "more like a deeply fortified respect." _Like one has for the ocean, _Deeks thinks to himself.

"Ah, I see," Hetty says, standing to flip the Québécois grilled cheese still on the stove. Deeks runs his tongue over his teeth, cringing when he tries to remember the last time he had seen a toothbrush.

Agent Sorenson saunters into the kitchen a few moments later, an empty coffee cup in his hand. Deeks looks up to him questioningly, hoping the man has some news. Agent Sorenson seems to understand Deeks' pleading look and shakes his head apologetically.

"Sorry, man. No news," he tells Deeks as he sets the cup into the sink before moving to the fridge.

"I hope you're hungry, Agent Sorenson," Hetty says, turning off the stove and reaching for the syrup. Agent Sorenson turns around, eyebrows raised in intrigue, his tongue absently darting to his lips. The smell drifting through the house had been what brought him to the kitchen.

He smiles as she sets the plate on the counter, the syrup glinting in the light as it slowly slides down the edges of the sandwich. His knife is halfway to the plate when Deeks leans forward, his arms braced against the countertop.

"Seriously? Not a word?" Deeks asks, stopping the agent from enjoying his dinner.

Agent Sorenson looks up briefly before shaking his head and continuing to cut into the sandwich as he answers. "Nah, man. They haven't called since settling in. It'll probably be a while, I mean, weren't y'all at the cabin for almost two days before she showed up?"

"Yeah, well we've only got about two days left before we're officially sidelined," Deeks points out, "And we practically told her where they're going, so it shouldn't take that long." Deeks continues to stare at the agent, obviously irritated with Agent Sorenson's seemingly lack of concern.

Agent Sorenson sighs heavily, his forearms falling to rest on the counter, knife and fork still held in either hand. He tilts his head, looking to Hetty for guidance in dealing with the worried detective.

Hetty smiles over a cup of tea, "I have a feeling he isn't going to rest until he finds out."

Agent Sorenson raises his eyebrows in agreement. Setting his knife down, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. Looking at Deeks exasperatedly, he dials his partner's phone, bringing it to his ear.

Deeks sits somewhat patiently, hoping for news that something's happened, but wishing them to be safe and sound at the same time.

"Hey, Mac," Agent Sorenson says when Agent Ryker finally answers the phone. "Yeah, I know. Just calling for an update. Everyone's kinda goin' stir-crazy on this end," he says, pointedly looking at Deeks. "Alright man, just keep us updated."

He hangs up the phone, letting it rest on the counter as he recovers his knife and resumes eating. "There's no sign of her," he begins to explain once he's taken a bite. "Everyone's just sitting around waiting. About to do a shift change in an hour or so."

Deeks nods, not really feeling any better now that he knows for sure. He looks to Hetty, fighting back a yawn as he stands from the stool.

"I think I'm gonna shower and go to bed," he says, his hand automatically going to his side, his fingers sliding over the stitches he can feel through the thin material of his shirt. "Come and tell me if there's any news?" Deeks asks, looking specifically at Hetty.

"I'll come and tell you should anything _bad_ happen, Mr. Deeks. You need your rest."

Deeks looks like he's about to argue, but decides against it. Hetty's not going to do anything she doesn't want. Having her agree to come and tell him if something goes wrong is more than she could have agreed to.

He nods instead, turning and heading for the bathroom and a long overdue shower. As he passes through the living room, he notices that at some point, Eric had given up the chair in favor of the couch, burrowing into the covers and pillows Deeks had abandoned.

"Damn Monk-y Tea," Deeks laughs as he continues down the hall.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Nell can tell that Kensi's about to go stir crazy. Despite the calm and cool demeanor the woman appears to be exhibiting, Nell can see the little tells that give Kensi away. Her fingers absently tap on her leg, the table, the doorframe—anywhere her hands happen to find themselves. She keeps standing and walking around, unable to sit still for more than ten minutes at a time.

Nell also knows that Sam and Callen can sense Kensi's irritation with having to wait. At first, the men had taken to passing the time discussing anything and everything, including the other members of the team. However, after realizing that Kensi's fuse is merely dangling above the lighted match, Sam and Callen began to steer away from any topic that may set her off. In particular, anything to do with Deeks, Hetty, or Eric—mostly Deeks.

At the moment, Kensi's sitting sideways in her seat, her legs crossed and hanging over the armrest. She's fingering the antenna on the walkie-talkie, willing the small light to come on, for someone to tell them that Natalia's been sighted.

"I wish Ryker would hurry up with the pizza," Sam says from his position near the window, carefully peeling back a corner of the curtain to peer outside.

"You do realize that Ryker could be the mole," Kensi says, her eyes focused on the room's door. "Could be Sorenson."

"They were out in the field when the bombs beneath the cars were discovered. They never had an opportunity to bug the laptops," Nell points out, having already thought of that possibility. "Besides, Director Vance assigned them to us, the odds that he would randomly choose an agent who's trying to kill us as our protection detail is _very_ unlikely."

"But not impossible," Kensi counters. She swings her legs off the armrest and begins her umpteenth trek around the room. "We shouldn't have split up," she mutters to herself.

"Hetty and Sorenson are with them, Kens. They're gonna be fine," Callen says reassuringly. Kensi just stares at him before continuing her journey from kitchen to bedroom, back to sofa.

"I know that," she says, trying to sound as though she hadn't been worried. "It's just easier knowing they're not in trouble when you can see them." She may have said "them" but everyone in that hotel room knows she's thinking "him."

A familiar knock on the door, followed by a nasal declaration of "Pizza" alerts the team to Agent Ryker's arrival, the smell of pepperoni obvious the moment the door opens. "Jamie called," he says, referring to Agent Sorenson. "Said your boys are going crazy with boredom and worry." He sets the pizza on the counter, flipping the lid and grabbing a slice for himself. "Told him you all are pretty much doing the same."

Sam grins and takes a slice for himself, frowning at the large pool of grease coating the cheese. Callen grins at Sam's obvious disapproval of their dinner. As Nell stands to choose her piece of pizza, Kensi plops down in front of the computer, idly picking at a burnt piece of pepperoni. She's watching the screen, studying the many faces that walk by the cameras, wondering if any are capable of murder.

Nell eases down next to her, readjusting the laptop so that they can both see the screen. Images of families coming and going, men meeting women, and maids pushing carts flit in and out of the screen. None of them getting a hit with the facial recognition, none of them being Natalia Cruz.

Kensi tosses her crust to Monty, debating whether or not she wants another slice. She's about to stand up, her hands propped on her knees so she can push herself off of the couch when a small figure in the corner of the screen catches her attention.

"Nell, focus on that woman," she says, pointing at the laptop. Nell wipes her hands on a napkin before working to isolate the image on the screen. She narrows in on a small brunette, her hair hanging just past her shoulders, large sunglasses resting on a button nose, her shirt hanging loose over her small frame.

"That's the pregnant lady," Kensi exclaims, leaning forward to get a better look.

Nell studies the woman, glancing sideways at Kensi. "Um, she doesn't look very pregnant to me," she says, looking towards Callen and Sam, turning the screen so they can see.

"Exactly," Kensi says, standing and going to the bag of weapons on the counter. "When we first arrived, she looked like she was days away from giving birth, now she looks like she's ready for bikini season. That has to be her," she tells them, checking the clip of her gun.

Callen holds a hand out, trying to slow Kensi down before she storms out the door. "Nell, check the security cameras from when we first arrived. Make sure it's the same woman."

"She was in the garage," Kensi tells her, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. "She came in the hotel right before us," she says as Nell begins typing.

A few moments pass, everyone waiting quietly for Nell to compare the two images. "It's the same woman," Nell confirms a few minutes later. "She's staying one floor above us."

"Alright. So, it's the same woman you saw in the garage, but is it Natalia?" Agent Ryker asks, "Who's to say it isn't some crazy woman who gets off on pretending to be pregnant?" Even as he asks the question, he double-checks his weapon, already knowing they're going to check it out.

"Because Facial Rec pulled a sixty-seven percent match with Natalia Cruz. The sunglasses are blocking most of her face," Nell smiles, more than a little relieved that their plan seems to be working. She had been afraid that the mole wouldn't have intercepted the message, that they'd be forced to relinquish control of the case, and wait in hiding until Natalia was caught, _if_ she was caught.

Sam feels the anxiety, the adrenaline, and anger urging him forward. He's pissed and more than ready to get this over with.

"Let's go."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi smiles at the old couple she passes in the hall, dipping her head in a silent greeting as she continues walking towards the stairs. She waits until they disappear into their room before pushing the door open, it closing behind her with a loud clang that echoes through the concrete stairwell.

She takes the stairs two at a time, her hand resting on the butt of her gun, eyes glancing upwards as she climbs, expecting for Natalia to come around any moment. As she reaches the eighth floor landing, she takes a steadying breath, reaching forward, her fingers dancing along the metal bar of the door.

She listens, closing her eyes to concentrate on whether or not she hears anyone on the other side. When she's met with nothing but silence, she leans her weight into the door, pushing it open.

The hallway's empty, no sign of Natalia or anyone else. She begins walking down the hall, her footsteps muffled by the expensive carpet. Her stride falters momentarily when Sam and Callen suddenly emerge from the stairwell at the far end of the hall, their guns already out, Agent Ryker and two members of LAPD behind them.

She waits outside room 845, gun in one hand, master key in the other. She waits for Callen's nod before sliding the card into the slot, the light changing from orange to green. They barge in, guns up, eyes wide as they search the large room.

The room's empty, no sign of Natalia, or any other woman for that matter. There's a large suitcase resting on the bed, several knives and a few guns tucked in with a variety of clothes. A false stomach lies at the foot of the bed, the wig and sunglasses abandoned with the image of her pregnancy.

"She's not here," Callen says, turning to look at Sam and Kensi. He reaches for the walkie-talkie, "Nell, she's not here. The room's empty."

"That's not possible," comes Nell's quick reply. "We saw her enter the room. There's no other way out." Nell rewinds the footage, watching as the woman enters the hotel room, cautiously glancing over her shoulder as though she knew she was being watched. "She never left," Nell says into the walkie-talkie.

"Well, she's not here," Callen answers. "Check the other cameras, see if you can pick her up. She's abandoned the glasses and wig," he tells her before setting down the walkie-talkie. He puts his gun away, running his hand over his mouth.

"We'll check the other floors, she might be trying to stay off the cameras," Agent Ryker says, turning and gesturing to the LAPD officers, indicating they're to follow him. Callen waits until they're gone before speaking.

"How could she have left? We're on the eighth floor." He looks out the window, the empty balcony open to LA. "We're missing something." He turns to look at Sam, watching as he eyes the bed, gesturing to comforter draping the floor.

Callen tilts his head, a look that says '_really?' _decorating his face. Sam dips the corners of his mouth down, shrugging as he considers what he's suggesting. Callen takes his gun back out, nodding to Sam, telling him he has his back. Sam shakes his head, pointing towards Callen and then the floor, indicating he should be the one the check.

Callen rolls his eyes, dropping down on both knees, looking towards Sam. "You owe me," he mouths, his hand fisting in the comforter. Sam ignores him, counting to three on his fingers.

Sam points the gun, dropping to one knee as he sweeps it beneath the bed.

"Did you find her?" Kensi asks, smiling at the sight of the two men on their knees. Both Sam and Callen ignore her, choosing instead to look through Natalia's open suitcase.

"She packed light," Callen says, holding up a small handgun, a silencer rigged to the barrel.

"She wasn't planning on staying long," Kensi says as she begins looking through the cabinets in the small kitchenette. She sees Sam walk into the bathroom, as Callen continues to rifle through the suitcase.

She closes one cabinet, moving to the next. She reaches forward, prepared for the uniform squeak of the hinge that seems mandatory with all hotel cabinetry. What she isn't prepared for is the door flying open in her face, the small blonde jumping forward, knocking her off her feet.

Kensi barely has time to register that she's found Natalia Cruz before the small woman grabs her by the neck, ramming her forehead into Kensi's nose. Kensi lets out a loud cry, her eyes watering from the pain. She feels her nose begin to bleed, but she ignores it. Reaching out, she grabs a handful of platinum curls. Letting out all the frustration she's felt over the last few days, she puts all of her weight into her movement, slamming Natalia's head into the counter.

The woman falls to the ground, obviously disoriented but still conscious. Kensi brings her hand up to her nose, leaning against he counter as Callen and Sam level their guns on the fallen woman.

"Kens, you okay?" Callen asks, his eyes still focused on Natalia as Sam reaches for his handcuffs.

"I'm fine," Kensi tells him, looking up to the ceiling as blood begins to flow through her fingers. "I don't know if it's broken."

She allows Callen to move her hand, his fingers hesitantly running along the bridge of cartilage.

"Sonuvabitch!" She screams when he pushes down, a small pop audible despite the ringing in her ears.

"She popped the cartilage," Callen explains, wiping his bloody hands absently on his jeans. "You'll thank me later."

"Maybe," Kensi says, both hands holding her nose, her eyes already beginning to bruise.

Callen just smiles at her as he picks up the walkie-talkie.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Agent Sorenson is washing the dishes when his phone rings, Hetty nursing her second cup of tea. She reaches forward, looking to the man at the sink for consent before answering the phone.

"Henrietta Lange," she says, mouth pursing as she listens to the man on the other line. "And everyone's okay?"

Agent Sorenson turns off the faucet, haphazardly drying his hands as he approaches Hetty, not even bothering to ask for his phone. He stands patiently, waiting for her to finish talking to whomever had called him.

"Thank you, Agent Ryker. I'll be there shortly." She hangs up the phone, pushing her teacup away as she stands. "They've apprehended Natalia Cruz. They're taking her to the boat shed," she informs Agent Sorenson, reaching into her jacket pocket, insuring her gun is still in place.

"And you think you're going there?" Agent Sorenson asks incredulously.

Hetty stands still, one eyebrow quirking in challenge. "Are you trying to tell me I can't?" she asks, her tone making it clear what she expects his answer to be.

"No ma'am. It's just… Director Vance—"

"You leave Director Vance to me. I need you to stay here and look after those two men in there," she says, gesturing to the back of the house. "Tell them where I've gone and what's happened _only_ after they wake up."

Agent Sorenson nods nervously, giving his unwilling consent. "Yes ma'am."

Grabbing a set of keys, Hetty pulls the door shut behind her.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Hetty enters the boat shed a little over an hour later to find Agent Ryker, Kensi, and Nell resting at the table, watching the interrogation play out on the screen.

"What happened?" Hetty asks, watching as Kensi readjusts an ice pack over her sensitive nose.

"Crazy bitch broke my nose," Kensi manages to mutter from beneath the icepack. She sets it aside as Hetty comes forward, studying the bruising decorating her agent's face.

"I thought you said everyone was okay?" Hetty asks Agent Ryker accusingly.

"I'm fine Hetty," Kensi quickly interjects, saving a stumbling Mac Ryker from Hetty's wrath.

"Besides, I think Kensi got her back," Nell says, pointing to the screen. Hetty turns to find a small blonde sitting across from Callen, her head cradled in her hands. It takes a few moments before she looks up, but when she does, Hetty can't help smiling appreciatively.

"Your handiwork?" she asks Kensi, gesturing to the large, purple knot clearly present amongst blonde ringlets.

"Slammed her head into a marble countertop," Kensi says, a small amount of pride detectable in her declaration.

"Has she given up the mole?" Hetty asks, once again turning to look back at the screen.

"She hasn't really said much of anything." Nell reaches for the remote, turning up the volume so they can hear what's being said.

Callen lays down a picture of Officer Sharpe, the small knife protruding from his neck. "Do you know what the punishment is for killing a police officer?"

Natalia continues to stare at him, her eyes full of anger. "Why does this concern me? I didn't kill him." Years in America has caused her accent to fade, but the agents can still tell English isn't her first language.

"Give it up, Natalia. You left your DNA and fingerprints all over that room. There's an eyewitness that places you at the scene. _We _saw you leaving the cabin," Sam says from his spot in the corner, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

"Hey Sam, how many times has she tried to kill us now?" Callen asks with false curiosity.

Sam shakes his head, shrugging one shoulder. "At least three that I can think of."

"There's seven of us. So, three times seven…Natalia, that's twenty-one counts of attempted murder. That's a lot of jail time, not to mention when we add on the two dead bodies. Then there's all those hidden cameras, and—"

"Two? There is no two dead bodies," she says, interrupting Callen, acting as though the thought of being charged with twenty-one counts of attempted murder doesn't faze her.

"Nicholas Sharpe and Andrew Nichols," Callen says, reaching into the folder for another picture. He lays the photo of Nichols' body alongside that of Sharpe's. Immediately, Callen can tell something's wrong.

When he had shown her the photo of Sharpe, Natalia had acted disinterested. However, the photo of Nichols definitely catches her attention. She stares at the photo, her eyes wide as one hand comes up, manicured nails running along the image.

She begins to shake her head, glassy eyes looking up, pleading with Callen to take it back. "Drew is dead?" she asks, her voice a whisper as she fights back the tears.

"He was found in your house, Natalia. Are you telling me you didn't do this?"

She begins to shake her head, the tears falling freely. "He's not supposed to die. That bastard!" She screams, pushing the pictures away as she stands. She paces back and forth, yelling in Portuguese before collapsing against the wall, pressing her bruised head against her knees, her hands tangling in her hair as she cries.

"Oh my god," Kensi mutters, closing her eyes as she listens to Natalia continue to ramble.

"What is she saying?" Nell asks, looking between the screen and Kensi. Kensi doesn't answer. She tosses the icepack onto the table and walks to the interrogation room. She peeks inside, gathering both Callen and Sam's attention.

"I need to talk to you," she says, looking to the crying woman on the floor before backing out, Callen and Sam behind her.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks, trying to figure out what just happened.

"We've been wrong at every turn," Kensi says, her voice heavy with defeat. "The mole's not working for her. She's working for the mole."

"What?" Callen asks, looking back to the closed door. "Are you sure?"

"She was just yelling about it. She wasn't really clear, but her grief for Nichols is true. From what I could gather, she's been doing the mole's dirty work, and the mole killed Nichols."

"She didn't happen to say a name did she?" Agent Ryker asks. "I mean, she's not exactly calling him 'the mole' is she?"

"No, she just called him a bastard and a few other colorful names," Kensi says, smiling despite the situation.

"Maybe now she'll be willing to give him up," Callen says, his brain reeling with the new information. "If she and Nichols were close, she should want to toss her boss under the bus."

"See if you can get it out of her Mr. Callen," Hetty urges. She feels ill, both physically and mentally. The knowledge that one of her employees was working with a psychopath to kill them was hard enough, but learning that one of her employees _is_ the psychopath is ten times worse.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

It took some time before Natalia calmed down enough to entertain the idea of speaking with the agents. She definitely wasn't happy when Kensi decided to join the chat.

But a bottle of water and an icepack for her head had gone a long way in dulling the ire she felt towards the female agent. But Callen's willing to bet Natalia's willingness to play nice stemmed mostly from the fact that they now have a common enemy.

"What do you mean you don't know his name?" Sam asks, steadily growing unhappier with each new bit of information.

"It means," Natalia begins, speaking slowly like one would with a young child, "that I. Do. Not. Know. His. Name. He never gave it to me."

Callen leans forward, showing her that he's not willing to play games. "How did you meet?"

"He worked with Ferreira," she tells them, smiling as she points to Callen. "You killed him, yes?"

"Yeah, I did. Were you working with Ferreira, too?" Callen asks, not wanting her to control the questions.

"You already know I was," she says impatiently. "This man, though, he worked differently."

"What does that mean?" Sam asks.

"I do what I'm told. Get information, terminate threats. I'm a good soldier," she says, speaking about her position with Ferreira with pride. "This man, he is like his own boss. He work _with_ Ferreira, not for him. They like partners."

"What does this man look like?" Kensi asks, preparing to stand and bring in Nell's laptop and force Natalia to look at photos.

"He has blue eyes, like you," she answers slowly, seductively turning towards Callen.

Callen just meets her stare, his face showing no reaction. "What else?"

"Dark hair, kind of long, um…what's the word, desgrenhado" she says, her hands gesturing to her hair.

"Shaggy?" Kensi translates, earning a smile from Natalia.

"Yes, Shaggy, like your detective. He's tall, too also like your detective." Natalia taps her fingers along the water bottle, her thumbnail playing with the edge of the wrapper. "You two are together, yes?"

"No," Kensi tells her, "What else?"

"You're no fun," Natalia pouts. She looks to the ceiling as she thinks. "He was nice, really smart, good with computers and stuff, likes to make things blow up. His Portuguese is really good, but his accent…wait where is she going?" Natalia asks as Kensi quickly stands and exits the room.

"Nell," Kensi says, rushing towards the laptop, "Pull up a picture of Chase Barnett."

"Chase Barnett," Hetty says, pinching the bridge of her nose. The man had transferred in from Texas a little over a year ago, but had given her no reason to believe he was working with an international arms dealer.

"Here," Nell says, handing the laptop to Kensi who wastes no time going back to the interrogation room.

"Is this the man you work for?" Kensi asks, showing the screen to Natalia.

"That is him." Her voice full of disgust.

"I'll call Jamie," Agent Ryker says, picking up his phone and dialing his partner's number. He frowns when voicemail picks up. Hanging up and trying again, he looks to Hetty with worry, putting the phone on speaker as an automated voice begins to speak.

"The number you are trying to call can not be reached. Please hang up and try your call…"

"Nell and I will stay here," Hetty says, looking to each of her agents. "Hurry to them."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Agent Sorenson finishes closing the last of the windows, the cold night air filling the house. He walks through each room, turning off light switches as he makes his rounds. He's walking through the kitchen, his fingers inches away from the light switch when the overhead light suddenly goes out. The whir of the refrigerator and the dishwasher dying, the clock on the stove dimming into darkness.

He immediately reaches for his gun, his other hand searching for his phone abandoned on the counter. He glances out the kitchen window as he walks towards the back door, knowing the breaker box is outside.

He has his partner's number dialed, his thumb ready to send as soon as he knows it's not just a burnt fuse. He eases out the door, his feet rolling across the wooden porch, slowly making his way to his destination.

The breaker box is closed, no sign that it's been tampered with. He eases his phone into his pocket, choosing to keep his gun out until he's back inside. The sound of sand shifting causes him to turn around.

"Chase? What are you doing here?" he asks, his gun rising a moment too late.

TBC…


	12. Fool Me Twice, Shame On You

**I may be unemployed, but I wrote 14 pages in one sitting and my house has never been cleaner. WooHoo!**

**Hopefully, this chapter answers all questions and solves all mysteries that have been driving everyone crazy. And shame, shame for everyone thinking I'd give you a cliff hanger like that and then leave y'all hanging. Please...  
**

* * *

As Eric opens his eyes, he knows something's wrong. He doesn't know what it is, but he can _feel_ it. He rubs his face across the pillow, using his finger to wipe the sleep from his eyes as he looks around the darkened living room.

He vaguely remembers making the transition from recliner to couch, his laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Sliding his hands down his face, he feels the scratch of stubble on his palms, the sensitive skin from the burn making him regret the action. According to his watch, it's just after eleven o'clock. A quick glance around, tells him that everyone else must have gone to bed.

Eric stands, reaching for his glasses and laptop before heading towards the kitchen to put the computer on to charge. It had been on when he fell asleep. His 'quick nap' had morphed into a much needed, multi-hour snooze fest, draining the sleeping laptop of all its battery power.

He stretches his toes, bare feet padding across wooden floor as he squints in the darkness, the sound of crashing waves muffled by the closed windows. All the lights are off, and he has to feel around the floor for the power cable.

He runs his finger along the edge of the computer, knowing where to plug the cord from memory. He frowns when the little orange light signaling the computer's receiving power stays off. Eric looks around, following the cord to the wall, double-checking that it's plugged in.

That's when he notices it, when he realizes exactly what's wrong. Houses aren't quiet. Even an empty house makes noise, whether it be because of air conditioners, refrigerators, creaking floorboards, old pipes—there's always noise.

The only noise Eric hears is the crashing of the waves, the light moan of the wind as it beats against the house, the neighbor's wind chime singing down the beach.

The numerous lights that usually accompany kitchen appliances are all dark, no luminescent green telling him the time.

"Hetty?" he calls out timidly, taking a step closer to the table, looking carefully around the room, ears straining for a wanted answer. "Deeks?"

He chews on his lower lip, debating what to do. He begins to tap his fist into his palm, a nervous habit he developed when he was younger, the product of too much energy. He steps around the table, walking towards the back door to make sure it's locked. He peers out the window, noticing the neighbor's porch lights are on, telling him it's not a blackout. Something's definitely wrong.

"Agent Sorenson? Jamie, you out here?" He opens the back door, peeking outside. When no one answers, he closes it quietly, careful not to make a sound as he secures the deadbolt.

Eric is officially freaked out. Every scary movie, horror story, and crime scene photo he's ever heard or seen begins to flit through his mind, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows convulsively.

Taking a steadying breath, he forces his feet to move forward, making his way back through the kitchen, into the living room. _They're just asleep_, he tells himself, hoping to find Hetty, Deeks, and Agent Sorenson passed out in the back bedrooms—never mind that logic dictates someone should be up keeping watch, that being the whole point of having a security detail and all.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the outline of a man standing in front of the window, the moonlit beach serving as a backdrop. For a moment he thinks it's Deeks until the night time light filters through the window, shining against darkened hair.

"Who are you?" Eric asks, surprising himself with the convincing bravado.

The man laughs, scratching casually at the back of his neck, the movement casting shadows across the room. "Come on, Eric. You know me." Eric can hear the friendly smile in the man's familiar voice, causing the tingling of his spine to multiply.

"Chase? What are you doing here?" The bravado's a little less in tact, his voice shaking near the end.

Chase shrugs, looks around the room as though he's bored. "Just thought I'd drop by. See how you're doing."

Eric looks down to Chase's feet, his eyes steadily adjusting to the darkness. He sees the outline of a large bag, similar to the ones he and Nell had used to pack the equipment they had brought to the cabin. 'Freaked out' doesn't even begin to describe it.

"Where is everybody?" Eric asks, forcing his eyes away from the foreboding bag.

"I was kinda hoping you could tell me." Chase smiles, the wetness on his teeth shining in what little light fills the room. "I was kinda hoping Hetty'd be here."

"She's gone?" Eric looks around the room, half expecting the diminutive woman to pop out of the shadows.

"As far as I can tell," Chase answers, following Eric's eyesight. "Jamie and Marty are here, but no sign of Hetty."

Hearing Chase the psychopathic Technicians Coordinator refer to Deeks and Agent Sorenson by their first names makes Eric want to scream and run, that fight or flight instinct kicking in.

"Where are Deeks and Jamie?" Eric asks, fearful of the answer. Chase smiles, jutting his chin towards the front door. Eric reluctantly looks away from the man standing before him, his eyes searching through the door's glass front as his feet slowly move him forward.

Agent Sorenson's slumped form is leaning against the banister, his legs sprawled out before him, his hands cuffed behind. His head is tilted downwards, the blood from the gash on his forehead slowly trickling down the bridge of his nose, a slow and steady drip falling from the end, landing in his lap. The barely detectable rise and fall of his chest makes Eric's heart beat faster, his breath catching in relief and fear.

"Deeks is in the back," Chase tells him, sounding as though there's nothing out of the ordinary about having an unconscious federal agent handcuffed to a porch's railing. "Are you going to play along, or am I going to have to put a bullet in one of their heads?"

Eric turns around, the fear dominating over the temporary relief at finding Agent Sorenson alive when Chase holds up a gun, the silencer extending from the barrel.

"What do you want?" Eric asks. Chase just smiles.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Natalia cradles her head gently on her arms, her body hunched over the table. With the agents gone, she has nothing to distract her from her mind, from the fact that Drew is dead.

Drew was supposed to be off-limits, he was hers. They had worked so hard to be together, to free Drew from that crazy ex of his and her demands for money, from the constant harassment of the police. A little fire, an unsuspecting homeless man, and a lot of luck had taken care of their problems. Drew Nichols was written off as deceased, free to go with her, free from all his past mistakes.

But that son of a bitch had ruined it all, he had taken Drew from her and now she's all alone. He wasn't even supposed to know about Drew.

Natalia lifts her head as the room's single door opens slowly, her eyes rimmed red with tears, her jaw clenched tightly to keep the sobs at bay.

Henrietta Lange. The bastard's boss. Natalia watches as the woman enters the room, her fingers sliding across the table as she nears the vacant chair.

"Ms. Cruz," Hetty says, taking the seat and meeting Natalia's eyes. "I take it you know who I am?"

"Henrietta Lange," Natalia answers, her voice thick and nasally from the tears. "You are a difficult woman to follow," she admits admiringly, but still somewhat resentfully.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Hetty tells her with a small smile, her eyes hard as she looks at the woman that's played such a large part in turning all their lives upside down. "But most call me Hetty."

Natalia shrugs, not really caring what anyone calls her. She picks up the abandoned icepack, placing it back on her tender head. Hetty watches the woman's indifference, her thoughts going back the emotional response to Nichols' death.

"Ms. Cruz, the man you worked for is named Chase Barnett. He's been working for NCIS for just over three years, he's been here in LA a little over one. I need for you to tell me exactly what he's asked you to do, everything you know about him."

Natalia drops the icepack, letting it slam against the table as she looks at Hetty, obviously annoyed with the thought of having to continue the interrogation. "Why?"

"Why?" Hetty repeats indignantly. "Because, Ms. Cruz, Chase Barnett is partly responsible for the deaths of two men, the attempted deaths of several of my agents, and could now be endangering the lives of three people I care about as we speak. He will be punished for his crimes, and unless you want to go down with him, I suggest you tell me what I want to know."

Natalia's careless attitude wavers momentarily as she contemplates Hetty's threat. "You will make a deal?" she asks hopefully, not fully trusting the angry woman before her.

"Make no mistake, Ms. Cruz. You _are _going to prison, there is no question. However, your time can be spent in more…agreeable terms." Hetty sits back in the chair, her arms folding in her lap as she lifts her chin. "You tell me everything I need to know, everything that you know, and we'll see what we can do about keeping you stateside."

Natalia frowns, the look distorted by the large knot near her scalp. Sensing that Natalia isn't understanding, Hetty continues.

"Your fingerprints have connected you to multiple cases, one being in Columbia, South America. Personally, I've never visited a Columbian prison, but I've heard they are not ideal." Hetty waits as realization dawns on the woman's face. She smiles inwardly when she recognizes a slight tinge of fear color Natalia's brown eyes.

"You will keep me in America? You won't send me to them?" Natalia asks hopefully.

"Only if you cooperate."

Natalia nods, her thumb tapping sporadically against the tabletop. "What do you want to know?"

"What did Chase Barnett have you do?" Hetty asks.

"He gave me names, addresses, and pictures in a folder. Told me to follow you with a camera. He wanted more pictures. Video too. Told me it was, um,…uh…"

"Surveillance?" Hetty guesses, earning a quick nod from Natalia.

"Yes, surveillance. I put cameras in a few houses. He never told me why, he would just call and tell me to meet him, give me the cameras. He'd call when he knew no one was home." Natalia runs a hand through her hair, separating the curls as she talks. "Your home though, he never had address for you."

Hetty nods, knowing none of her addresses are listed in her file. "When did you first begin working for him?"

"Ferreira introduced us. I work for Ferreira for years, doing what he asks. He told me this man, Barnett you say, needed my services. I help him then. Maybe a year ago?"

"Is that when you began to follow us?" Hetty asks, feeling uneasy at the prospect of having been watched for such a long time.

Natalia shakes her head. "No, he asked that a few months ago. A year ago he needed someone eliminated," she explains plainly.

"You're an assassin," Hetty clarifies. Natalia simply shrugs her shoulders, tossing a hand up in a 'what-can-I-say' kind of manner.

"You can call it that."

Hetty purses her mouth, a little unnerved by the woman's apparent apathy towards her murderous title. "Was Barnett dealing in arms trafficking? Is that how he knew Ferreira?"

"Drugs," Natalia corrects, "He used Ferreira's sources to sneak shipments across the border. Ferreira helped him with money. You kill Ferreira, you kill Barnett's business."

"Did you place the bombs?" Hetty asks, moving along, not willing to address the fact that one of her employees had been manipulating his NCIS resources to profit from international drug dealing.

"No. I know knives, guns, I know fire. I don't like bombs. Too messy, unpredictable. Too complicated," Natalia tells her. "When bombs didn't work, he called me to finish the job."

Hetty nods, having suspected as much. "Where does Andrew Nichols come into all of this?"

Natalia's eyes harden, her hands clench into fists. "He killed him."

"Why?" Hetty asks, not understanding how a presumed dead fry-cook plays into the world of assassins and arms dealers.

"This man told me to work alone," Natalia explains, speaking of Barnett, "But there were seven of you. Too many to follow alone, and you all make it too difficult. So, I ask Drew to help, and he did fine. There was no reason to kill him." She drops her eyes to the table as she speaks, shaking her head in confusion, puzzled as to why Barnett would get angry.

"You and Andrew Nichols were in love," Hetty says, the pieces starting to fall into place. Natalia nods slowly, a small hiccup racking her frame as she begins to cry again.

"He wasn't supposed to die. He was a secret," she says, looking to Hetty to understand. "Why would he kill him?"

"Because he is a monster," Hetty answers.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Chamomile my ass," Deeks thinks out loud as he opens his eyes, his hand coming up to wipe away the errant drool on his chin. He looks towards the window, frowning when he realizes he's slept longer than intended.

His hair's still wet from his earlier shower, the curls drying in an unruly mess after being pressed against a pillow. He's preparing to get out of bed in order to go ask Hetty whether or not she's heard any news from the team when he realizes just how hot the room is.

He looks up, seeing the ceiling fan stilled, no circulating air offered to cool the room. He feels the slick of sweat on his back, the nape of his neck sticky as he lifts his head off the pillow. He doesn't hear the air conditioner, a must in California even at night.

Rolling onto his side to help him ease into a sitting position less painfully, he reaches to the nightstand, his gun resting next to the darkened alarm clock. He crosses the room carefully, the only sound being the steady click, click, click as he tries the light switch.

His hand is on the doorknob as he listens, his forehead resting against the whitewashed door. He can hear someone talking, the voices being too quiet, too indistinct to make out.

Slowly, Deeks opens the door, only enough for his battered body to slip out. He walks alongside the wall, careful not to step too far towards the center of the hallway should the creak of the floorboards give him away. His gun is held out, his eyes trained on the end of the hallway, the origin of the now silent voices.

The couch comes into view first, Eric sitting stiffly on the edge, the blankets and pillows abandoned on the floor.

"Eric?" Deeks asks, his gun slowly sweeping the room. "Want to tell me why you're sitting in the dark, and who you're talking to?" His voice is low, his tone light despite the nerves creeping up on him. "A little on the 'Paranormal Activity' side isn't it?"

Eric doesn't say anything. He simply looks to Deeks, his eyes wide. He's breathing in small, jerky breaths, trying hard not to move the vest strapped to his chest.

Seeing no sign of Natalia in the living room, Deeks turns back to Eric, his eyes taking in the altered lifejacket, the obvious packs of explosives lined in a row.

"Oh," he says, looking up into Eric's scared eyes. Deeks licks his lips, scanning the room, trying to see into the kitchen. "Does it have a timer?" he asks, hoping against hope that the answer's 'no', that they're being given a little break.

"No," Eric whispers, "I don't think so."

Deeks takes a step closer, getting a better look at the bomb, breathing a very small sigh of relief when he sees nothing that looks like it's counting down. "She still here?" he asks, preparing to step around the couch and venture into the kitchen.

"It's not Natalia," Eric tells him, his voice shaking as he fights hard not to panic. "It's Chase."

Deeks slants his eyes, looking questioningly at Eric through his peripheral vision as he continues to face the open kitchen. "Chase who?"

"Barnett," Eric says, finally moving as he turns his head to look at Deeks. "Our technicians coordinator. You've worked with him for like a year."

Deeks thinks through the mental list of people he's come to associate with NCIS, the name Chase Barnett not ringing any bells. "Is _he_ still here?"

Eric doesn't have time to answer. Chase casually saunters around the corner, leaning his weight against the wall separating the living room and kitchen. He lazily lifts his hand, a small, black device resting in his palm. "Yes, Detective. I'm still here."

Deeks looks at the man, at the dark hair, the strong cheekbone, and recognition hits. It's the water guy, the one he ran into a couple of days ago, spilling his water all over the place. Monty's strange behavior suddenly takes on a new light. He wasn't acting up because he had to go, he was reacting to the trace of explosives Barnett had on him.

"Where are Hetty and Sorenson?" Deeks asks, watching as the man idly turns the small device over in his hand.

Without looking up, his eyes still focused on the thing in his hand, Chase calls out, "Why don't you tell him, Eric?"

Deeks quickly glances to Eric before training his eyes back on Chase. "Eric?"

Eric clears his throat, his eyes looking anywhere but at the vest strapped to his chest, the pack of explosives laying against his rapidly beating heart. "Hetty's not here, she left or…I don't know. Sorenson's on the porch."

Deeks looks towards the front door, barely catching a glimpse of a lax booted foot. "He dead?"

"Not yet," Chase answers, holding up the device. "Do you know what this is, Detective?"

"Nothing good, I'm guessing," Deeks answers, his finger easing towards the trigger as he trains the sights on Chase's chest.

"It's a garage door opener. Genius little things, really." Chase smiles, his southern accent thick with condescension. "I mean, you can program these little buggers to do almost anything. Like, trigger a bomb."

Deeks tries to keep calm, forcing himself not to look to Eric, not to see his friend's reaction. Chase's smile only grows when he sees the worry in Deeks' posture increase.

"I'd put the gun down if I were you, Marty. Wouldn't want to shoot me and I accidentally push this button right here." Chase positions his thumb over the large, black square in the center of the device.

Deeks shuffles on his feet, his hands flexing against the gun nervously as he considers his options. There's too much risk, even with a headshot that Chase could push the button, his hand clenching in death. He remembers voicing the fact that the only reason they were still alive was because their stalker had a flare for the dramatic, a love for theatrics. Realizing he doesn't have any other choice, that he once again has to rely on luck, Deeks gives in.

Hating himself and the entire fucked up situation, Deeks spreads his arms, a clear sign of surrender as he bends awkwardly to place the gun on the floor. His side burns with the movement, his throat clenching to keep from crying out. Once he's standing upright again, he kicks the gun with his bare foot, sliding it towards his captor.

Chase smiles, pushing off the wall as he takes a step forward, reaching behind his back to retrieve a gun of his own. Pointing the silenced barrel at Deeks, Chase begins to walk around the opposite end of the couch, keeping a good distance between him and the two men in his control.

"Why are you doing this?" Deeks asks, his mind running through too many scenarios to count. Too many questions. Why did Hetty leave? Where did she go? Where's Natalia? What happened while he was asleep?

Chase laughs, the deep chuckle sounding as though it'd be less out of place at a bonfire surrounded by friends instead of a dark living room. "Does that really ever work? I mean, what do you expect, Marty? Is this the part where I search for my inner bad guy, quote Scooby-Doo, and curse you meddling kids?"

Chase shakes his head, the mirth never really reaching his eyes as he glances outside, insuring that Agent Sorenson's still unconscious. "I really couldn't care less if you know why I'm doing this, just know it's payback."

"Payback?" Deeks asks, taking a small step towards Eric.

"I had something good going for me," Chase explains, apparently caring more than he thought. "Y'all ruined it."

"Ferreira," Eric mutters as everything starts to make sense. He regrets saying his realization out loud when it brings attention back to him, both Deeks and Chase turning to look at him.

"You were working for Ferreira?" Deeks guesses, trying to remember everything about the case from six months ago. "We take down your boss, and what, getting away with it wasn't enough? You wanted to get even, too?"

Chase lets his smile fall, gripping the gun tighter in his hand. "He wasn't my boss. He was a business partner. Your little operation cost me millions. I'm talking eight figures easy."

Deeks half expects Chase to finish that little rant with "I would have gotten away with it too." He wants to say it for him, but past experience has taught him it's not a good idea to piss off the psycho with the gun, especially if said psycho's thumb is itching to detonate a bomb strapped to your friend's chest.

Deeks wants to scream in frustration. People are stupid, it's a blanket statement, and one he hates because it's so true. Chase had gotten away with a major crime, managed to fool all of NCIS and slip below the radar—yes, he was manning the radar, but he still slipped beneath it nonetheless. It's pure greed, a culmination of selfishness and stupidity that has them all where they are now.

Chase Barnett had fooled them all, but he had to be stupid and try to do it again.

"We blow your deal and you get your girlfriend to try and kill us, spy on us a little bit. That's kind of creepy, Chase." Deeks needs to keep him talking. Sooner or later, Hetty'll come back, Ryker will come to relieve his partner. Someone will walk across the beach and notice a man sprawled out on the front porch. They just need some time, they need to keep Chase Barnett distracted.

Chase laughs a humorless laugh, his eyes creasing as he looks up to the ceiling in exasperation. "Natalia isn't my girlfriend. She's nothing more than a gun for hire—too love sick over a bottom feeding burger-flipper to stick to the plan. I mean, the asshole was dumb enough to be seen on camera. Hell, he couldn't even shoot you when you were standing two fucking feet away!"

Deeks keeps his arms up, his hands gently patting the air, silently trying to calm Chase's rapidly rising ire.

Chase ignores him, bringing the hand with the detonator up, scratching at his eyebrow as he continues. "He got lucky hitting you at all, but if the stupid bitch had done what she was told, had done the job herself, you'd already be dead." He laughs again, somehow succeeding in sounding even creepier than before. "The fire almost got you though, didn't it?"

He gestures to Eric, to the irritated skin along his neck and jaw, to the bandage clearly visible despite the lack of light. Eric keeps still, too scared to bump the vest.

Deeks takes another step towards Eric, trying to bring the focus back to himself. "How'd you find us? There's no way you managed to bug this house."

Chase nods his head, like a teacher showing appreciation for a student's question. "I knew Ryker'd be at the safe house, well the _other_ safe house. Monitored his calls, as soon as I realized Sorenson was still with you, I traced his phone. Led me right to your front door."

Chase gestures to the coffee table, the remains of Sorenson's phone scattered on top. "I had to make sure it was off," Chase laughs, "Didn't want it to accidentally set off our little bomb here."

Even though Deeks is looking at Chase, he can see Eric tense. Deeks knows that Eric's doing everything he can to keep calm. Eric's not made for this, nobody really is when it comes down to it—some are just better at dealing with it. Eric isn't one of those people. Deeks doesn't hold it against him, personally he wishes more people found guns and explosives abhorrent, it would lead to less crime, less acts of stupidity. Eric's the type of guy that can kick your ass without you even knowing about it, just give the guy a keyboard and you're toast.

C4, not so much.

Deeks wants to reassure Eric, tell him that everything's going to be okay, that they aren't going to die in a fiery explosion. But he can't, because he doesn't know.

"You should sit down, Marty. You're not looking too good." Chase points the gun at the chair farthest from the couch.

"Nah, I'm good, thanks." Deeks smiles, trying to sound calm.

"It wasn't really a suggestion," Chase tells him sternly, his smile looking out of place with the harsh tone.

Deeks slowly walks across the room, easing down into the oversized chair. He meets Eric's eyes, and they both know they're beyond being in trouble.

"Marty, did you know that this bomb will still work even if Eric's dead?" Chase asks, turning from Deeks and pointing the gun at Eric's head.

They're looking at 'trouble' in the rearview mirror.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Eric wants to close his eyes. He doesn't want to know what it looks like to see a bullet coming at you, but the thought of not knowing where Chase is, not being able to see the madman is enough to keep his eyes open.

He sees the gun slowly turn to point at him, the barrel lining up with his head. He turns back to look at Deeks, panic threatening to take control. He takes a steadying breath, focusing on Deeks, on not freaking out, on not begging for Chase to let them go. Something tells him Chase would like that too much.

"You don't want to kill him," Deeks says quickly, easing onto the edge of his chair, a moments notice from rising. Eric stares at him, silently pleading with him to do something.

"I kinda do," Chase informs him, the gun never wavering. "That's sort of the whole point of this little endeavor. I kill the two of you, wait until the rest of 'em show up, and then, BAM! A little bit of fireworks to celebrate a job well-done."

Chase winks at Deeks before straightening his gun arm, turning to secure his aim. Eric can't force his eyes to look away, his brain freezing with fear and acceptance, a weird combination of emotions to experience at once.

But the shot goes wide, the little 'pop' from the silencer overshadowed by the sound of Deeks driving his body into Barnett's, knocking the gun out of his hand at the last possible second.

Eric doesn't have time to be grateful, all his attention focusing on the small garage door opener flying beneath the coffee table, Chase's foot a few inches from ending them all.

Ignoring his fear of moving the vest, Eric drops down to his knees, hurrying across the floor to the table, securing the device and the dreaded button. He turns around, scooting away from the two men battling for dominance.

Eric knows if Deeks weren't hurt, he'd have the upper hand in a heartbeat. Deeks may not come out on top when sparing with Sam or Callen, but he's more than capable of holding his own.

But the fact is, Deeks isn't at the top of his game. He was shot less than seventy-two hours ago, and all it takes is a well-placed knee to his stomach to give Chase Barnett the upper hand.

Eric cringes in sympathy at the guttural cry of pain that erupts from Deeks as he falls to the floor, his breath catching at the end, leaving him choking for air, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.

His eyes are squeezed shut so he never sees the fist flying towards him, connecting with his jaw. Chase doesn't wait for Deeks to recover. He grabs him by the collar, hauling him up to his feet before lifting him in a surprising feat of strength, body slamming him into the coffee table.

Eric looks around, setting the garage door opener safely beneath the large chair, safe from accidentally being stepped on as he tries to think of a way to help Deeks.

Sometimes it's better not to think, to just let instinct take over. Your body and mind will fight to survive, doing what it must to stay alive.

As Chase stands and walks towards Deeks' abandoned gun, picking it up and turning back to Deeks who's still on the floor, struggling to breathe atop the ruins of a wooden coffee table, Eric doesn't even think. He just acts.

They're just little pops, kind of like listening to an air gun, but Eric knows it's more than that. He feels the kick, the recoil as he squeezes the trigger. One, two, three, four. The second shot misses its mark, flying wide and shattering the front door's window, but the first, third, and fourth find flesh.

Chase jerks when the first couple of bullets hit him, one in the neck, another in the chest. He's dead by the time the third penetrates his shoulder.

Eric sits frozen, his arms still raised as the gun points at open air, Barnett having already fallen to the ground. He takes in a shaking breath, slowly sitting the gun in his lap, his eyes lowering to look at Chase, at the blood quickly pooling around him, soaking into the edges of the large area rug.

He can hear Deeks breathing, can see him holding his side, attempting to move from his spot on the floor. Eric knows he should check on him, but he needs a moment.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Did you hit him?" Deeks asks breathlessly, his eyes still closed in pain. He had heard the telltale 'pop' of the silencer, but nothing afterward.

Eric swallows past the lump in his throat, pushing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tries to form an answer. "Yeah," he finally manages to say.

"You sure?" Deeks asks, lifting his head to look towards the kitchen, to the area he had kicked his gun. The couch blocks his view.

"Yeah," Eric tells him, "he's bigger than a pillowcase."

Deeks would laugh at the statement if it hadn't been whispered with such fear and shock. He takes a few more moments to catch his breath, allowing the pain time to dull from a blinding sharpness to a bearable throb.

He doesn't bother trying to stand or even to sit up all the way. Using his arms and kicking with his feet, he pushes himself backwards, slowly inching across the floor to where he's sitting near Eric.

"Eric?" he asks after a few more moments of silence. Slowly, Eric looks at him, his eyes shining in the moonlight as tears are barely kept at bay.

"Are you okay?" Eric asks, looking at the redness starting blossom near Deeks' mouth, a souvenir from Barnett's right hook.

Deeks smiles at Eric's concern. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you?"

Eric nods, taking the gun and handing it to Deeks, not wanting it near him any more. "I'm okay," he lies.

"You will be," Deeks promises, taking the offered gun and setting it on his other side, out of Eric's view. "Eric?"

"Hmm?" Eric turns towards Deeks, but his eyes are still looking at Chase's body.

"Eric, look at me." Deeks waits until Eric meets his eyes, his face drained of color, his pupils large in the low light. "You had to do it, understand? He was going to kill us otherwise."

Eric nods again, his fingers anxiously tapping against the floor. "I know," he whispers, "but he's dead."

"Yeah, he is." Deeks agrees. "But we're not. Focus on that, okay?"

"Okay." Eric closes his eyes. He tries to time his breathing with the crash of the waves. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out.

He listens as Deeks does the same, their breathing falling in sync with one another's.

"How bad is Sorenson hurt?" Deeks asks through gritted teeth as he eases down, lying flat on the floor.

"His head's busted up. It was bleeding pretty badly," Eric tells him, his eyes going to the door, the ocean breeze coming through the broken window. "I'll be right back." He stands slowly, carefully moving so as not to jostle the vest.

The door opens inward, and Eric has to step carefully over the broken glass. He kneels down beside the fallen agent, checking his pulse. It's the first time he's ever had to it outside a CPR class, and he desperately hopes it's the last. He gently shakes the man, calling his name only to receive no response.

"Check if he's got keys," Deeks calls out, prompting Eric to search the man's pockets.

"Nothing," he says, seeing no way to remove the handcuffs. Carefully leaning Sorenson's head back to rest against the railing in a more comfortable position, Eric stands and walks back inside, sitting down on the floor Indian style next to Deeks.

"You sure you're okay?" Eric asks.

"I can't move," Deeks admits, fighting back nausea as he feels for busted stitches.

"So what do we do?" Eric asks.

"We wait," Deeks tells him. "I'm gonna try not to throw up, you're gonna try not to blow up, and we're gonna sit tight until the team comes to the rescue. Then Sam and Callen can complain because the crazy son of a bitch is already dead, and we get all the glory for saving the day."

Eric lets out a small chuckle despite everything that's going on around him. "That sounds like a plan."

**TBC...for one more chapter.**


	13. A Survivor's Guide to Reality

**This is it, the final chapter. I have had a ridiculously awesome amount of fun writing this story. It's my first team fic, but definitely not my last. I've said it once and I'll say it again-the readers for NCIS:LA are among the best in any fandom. I thank each and every one of you for sticking with this story until the end.**

**I'm so glad I was brave enough to post this story. I have learned a lot, and made a few friends along the way. A special shout out to Katy, if for no other reason than for being amazing.  
**

* * *

Callen's got a grip on the door handle, his right hand bracing against the dashboard as Sam takes another corner, not even bothering to slow down. Ryker has tried and tried to get in touch with Sorenson, each time receiving an automated message.

"Kill the lights," Callen says needlessly as the beach comes into view, Sam already having reached forward to do just that. They're all wearing vests, NCIS printed boldly in white across the chest, their guns locked and loaded, ready.

The sound of tires meeting sand is like a muffled thump, the engine revving as it compensates for the loss of traction. Sam stops the car behind Agent Sorenson's SUV. As soon as they step outside, they know something's wrong, that their worry is justified.

Not a single house light is on, the two driver's side tires on Sorenson's SUV have been slashed, the rims digging into sand beneath the car's weight. Callen looks to Sam, nodding as they speak without words.

Sam and Callen go behind back, easing onto the porch facing the driveway. Kensi and Ryker go around front, towards the beach.

Kensi takes lead, her eyes wide to take in as much light as the barely-there moon will provide. She feels Ryker behind her, can sense his concern. It mirrors hers. As she rounds the corner of the house, she sees the glass covering the front porch, fanning out from the open door, the collapsed form of Agent Sorenson comes next.

Hearing the sharp intake of breath, the barely muttered curse coming form behind her, Kensi knows that Agent Ryker sees him, too. She lets him pass her, watches as he drops to a knee to check on his partner. She keeps her eyes peeled, watching the house for any sign of Barnett.

Stepping onto the bottom step, she sees the relief in Ryker's shoulders as he gently cradles his partner's neck in his hand. "Jamie, can you hear me man?"

"Is he breathing?" she asks, moving further onto the porch. Agent Ryker nods, as he reluctantly stands, preparing to watch her back as they enter the house.

"Kensi?"

The sound of her name causes her to turn, her gun aimed through the open doorway. "Eric?" she asks, identifying the voice.

"You can put the gun down, Rambo. Coast is clear." She isn't sure if she feels more relieved or annoyed as she recognizes the sound of Deeks' voice. She lowers her gun as she steps through the front door, shattered glass crunching beneath her feet.

She sees Eric sitting on the floor, Deeks sprawled out beside him. Barnett's stilled form is lying near the couch, his eyes open and unstaring. "What happened?" she asks, quickly crossing the room. "Callen! It's clear!" she yells, before turning towards Ryker. "I got 'em," she tells him, letting him know it's okay to go back to his partner. "Are you two okay?"

"We don't know where Hetty is," Deeks tells her, his eyes focused on the ceiling, his breathing forced into a steady pattern. "But we found out who our psycho was."

"Barnett," Kensi says, her hands going to Deeks' shirt, lifting it up to look at the swollen mess beneath. She can't really see anything in the low light. "Hetty's at the boathouse with Nell."

Feeling his shirt rise, Kensi's cold hands testing the tender area at his side, Deeks lifts his head, squinting at his partner. He's about to ask what she's doing, to tell her that it's probably not as bad as it looks, but something else catches his attention.

"What happened to your face?" he asks as he takes in her inflamed nose, the darkened bruises beneath her eyes.

She frowns, letting his shirt drop as she looks up, noticing the swollen lip and redness drifting down towards his jaw. "What happened to yours?"

Deeks lifts his chin to gesture to Chase's body. "He had a mean swing," he explains.

"Well, _she_ had a hard head," Kensi smiles contemptuously.

"You got Natalia?" Eric asks, causing Kensi to turn towards him. This close, she's able to see that something isn't right. She feels her stomach twist as her eyes look at the manipulated life vest.

"Eric, please tell me that isn't a bomb," she pleads, leaning closer to get a better look.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice," Eric quips. He's regained that stiff posture, breathing small breaths to keep his chest from moving the vest. He's not sure how the bomb's rigged, he just knows he doesn't want to be responsible for it going off.

They all jump a little when the sudden sound of appliances kicking to life fills the house. Ceiling fans begin to turn, the refrigerator hums, microwaves beep, and the air conditioner starts to cool the house.

Sam's heavy footfalls enter the living room, Ryker's phone in his hand. "G got the power back on," he says, clicking the light switch as he looks at what remains of Chase Barnett. "Ambulance is on the way."

"You might want to turn that off," Deeks says, indicating the phone in Sam's hand, the memory of Sorenson's destroyed phone still fresh in his mind.

Sam's about to ask 'why' when he turns to look at the three people clustered on the floor, Kensi letting her hand rest reassuringly on Eric's bent knee, a series of wires tangling between a neat row of explosives and duct tape.

Sam closes his eyes, breathing in deeply before letting it out. _The bastard's already dead_ he reminds himself, knowing Barnett's already been punished. He looks down, quickly turning the phone off.

"Is everyone okay in here?" Callen asks from the doorway, his body half turned towards Agent Ryker, preparing to help him ease Agent Sorenson into a lying position. "Please tell me that isn't a bomb," Callen says, echoing Kensi's plea as he looks towards Eric.

Eric smiles nervously. "I _really_ wish it wasn't."

Callen walks the rest of the way inside, bending down to study the vest and the bomb attached. "There's no timer, that's a plus," he observes, standing to look at Eric's back, trying to determine how complicated the bomb is.

"Sam, come look at this." Callen stands out of the way, giving Sam room to look at the back of the vest and the bomb.

"We can work with this," Sam says, nodding as his eyes follow the wires. Lucky for them, Chase Barnett was a minimalist when it came to bomb making. The two placed beneath Sam and Kensi's cars had been pressure triggered, relying on the driver's weight to activate the bomb. The one currently strapped to Eric is a little more complicated, but only just.

Sam reaches forward, running a finger along the small, black contraption placed over the buckle of the life vest. "This is a receiver."

"It's synced with a garage door opener," Deeks says from his spot on the floor. "Eric tossed it under the chair."

"And I'd like it to stay there, if you don't mind," Eric says quickly, not liking the idea of anyone handling the device or its button.

"Has anyone called bomb squad?" Agent Ryker asks from the doorway. His fingertips are tinged with blood from tending to his partner's head wound.

"Barnett said that phones could activate it," Deeks tells him, lifting his head from the floor so he can see the man.

"Yeah, but Sam already called the EMTs," Ryker points out. "It didn't set it off then."

"It's not guaranteed to go off. It's rigged to explode when you press a garage door opener, but the phone could get on the same frequency and we'd all be toast," Sam explains.

"And I really don't want to press my luck." Eric looks even paler than before. After Barnett was taken care of, he had been able to focus on Deeks and Sorenson, on breathing. Now that everyone's focused on him, he has no choice but to deal with the fact that there is an honest to god bomb resting against his chest. "I just want this off now," he says, his voice shaking with fear and emotional exhaustion.

"Kensi, can you go find me some scissors?" Sam settles down on his knees, his features unwavering as he formulates a plan while Kensi heads to the kitchen.

"You're not gonna cut the wires?" Agent Ryker asks, obviously worried with Sam's sudden sense of determination. Eric looks worriedly between Sam and Agent Ryker, sharing the agent's concern.

"Not the wires," Sam clarifies, "the vest." He gestures to the seams, the thin area where the vest is sewn together along the sides, running perpendicular with Eric's ribs beneath his arm. "The material's thin here. We cut that away, careful to avoid the wires, the vest'll be loose enough to lift over his head. Piece of cake."

"Piece of cake?" Callen asks suspiciously.

Sam smiles and tilts his head. "If I don't mess it up."

"There is that," Callen agrees. Eric looks like he's about to be sick. Beads of sweat begin to gather along his scalp despite the cool air now flowing through the house. He tucks his fingers beneath his legs to keep his hands from shaking.

"Eric." Sam can sense the tension and fear stemming from his friend. "We got this," he says reassuringly. Eric can only nod as Kensi comes back into the room, a pair of kitchen shears in her hand.

"This is all I could find," she says apologetically as she hands Sam the large scissors.

Sam looks to Eric, making eye contact before beginning. "Alright man. Hold your arm up while I cut." Eric slowly raises one arm, giving Sam access to the seam on the vest.

Very carefully, Sam slides his fingers between the wires and the nylon. He can feel Eric's breathing change from short and shallow to rapid and deep.

"We got this, Eric," Sam repeats as he maneuvers the scissors, slowly cutting through the nylon, trying hard not to pull the wires as he does so. "We got this."

Eric keeps as still as he can, his eyes locked to a spot on the floor, distancing himself from the situation. He sighs in relief when Sam finishes cutting the left side of the vest.

"G, why don't you help Ryker get Sorenson closer to the road, keep the medics away." Sam slowly eases around to Eric's other side, careful not to bump Deeks who's still lying beside him. "Then you can come and help get Deeks."

Callen looks at his team, silently wishing them luck before turning to follow Ryker outside. Repeating what he had done on the other side, Sam works to loosen the vest, cutting through the material. They can hear the sound of approaching sirens, can make out the flashing lights bouncing in the darkness through the distant kitchen windows.

As soon as the last inch of nylon is cut, Sam sets the scissors on the seat cushion, wiping his sweaty palms on the legs of his pants as he stands. "Kensi, we're gonna need your help," he says, waiting until Kensi's standing on the other side of Eric before explaining how they're going to remove the vest, holding his own arms high above his head as a model for Eric to imitate.

"You ready?" Sam asks, looking to both Eric and Kensi for an answer as Callen comes back through the door.

"We got this," Eric says, a small trace of confidence evident in his shaky voice.

"Nothin' to it," Sam replies as he grabs onto the vest's shoulder, readying to pull it upwards. He looks to Kensi, nodding once to signal he's ready. Very slowly, they work together pulling the loosened vest above Eric's head and extended arms, making sure the wires don't catch on the way up.

As soon as the wires are clear, Kensi handing her side of the vest to Sam, Eric scrambles to his feet, rushing towards the open door. Callen steps out of his way as Eric grabs onto the doorframe, using it hold him up as he empties his stomach.

"It's over, Eric," Callen tells him when he manages to catch his breath, the dry-heaves finally subsiding. "It's done."

Eric nods, spitting the extra saliva out before leaning his forehead against the wall. Kensi walks forward, rubbing soothing circles on his back as she steers him out the door towards the waiting paramedics.

Sam carefully lays the still armed bomb on the couch, stepping over the ruined coffee table before turning to help Callen with Deeks.

"You ready to get out of here?" Callen asks, helping Sam pull Deeks into a standing position. Deeks sways on his feet for a moment, the sudden upward motion causing a severe case of vertigo, the movement igniting the fire in his side. He can only nod as Sam and Callen steady him, throwing each of his arms over their shoulders before moving him towards the door, leaving the bomb and Chase Barnett behind.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kensi props her feet up on the end of the bed, pushing the small plastic chair back on two legs. The TVs on, the volume turned low, the local weatherman's voice blending into the background, an errant noise among the beeps and whirs associated with hospitals.

She twirls the pen around her thumb, her eyes blurring as she stares at the crossword puzzle lying in her lap. Her coffee sits abandoned on the small table, having long gone cold. Every so often, Deeks will stir in his sleep, jostling the covers and multitude of wires snaking out from beneath the blankets.

The doctors had been less than impressed with Deeks' lack of medical attention, even less so with the added damage and missed antibiotics. Needless to say, as soon as the doctors had heard about the last three days, he had been attached to IVs, pumped full of meds and ordered to stay in bed. For once, Deeks had shown no sign of objecting.

Kensi looks up and studies the clock, letting the pen fall on top of the crossword as she interlocks her fingers and stretches her hands far above her head. It's been a little over three hours since they arrived. Agent Sorenson had been whisked away, a whole team of scrub clad men and women buzzing about him, all worried for the deep gash on his head.

Hetty and Nell had shown up not long after that, each wearing identical looks of concern. Natalia had been handed off to another agent, Monty spending the night with a friendly LAPD officer. Hetty had stuck around long enough to hear Agent Sorenson's diagnosis of an acute skull fracture before disappearing—what it is she left to do, Kensi doesn't know.

She can hear nurses walking up and down the hall, whispering as they go, the night shift having conditioned them to speaking quietly. The patients aren't so considerate. Someone down the hall lets one of the rooms' heavy doors slam shut, the loud bang carrying down the acoustic hallway.

Deeks jerks awake, his eyes wide and momentarily full of fear as he looks around the room in search of the loud noise. Kensi brings her legs down, sets the crossword to the side as she leans forward, scooting her chair closer to the bed.

"Feeling any better?" she asks soothingly, pretending she hadn't seen his momentary fear. She watches as he calms himself, his mind quickly recognizing his surroundings, putting two and two together.

"Yeah," he says, licking his chapped lips. He lets his muscles relax, sinking back into the mattress. "I think I'm just a little jumpy."

Kensi laughs, leaning back in her chair. She has a band across the bridge of her nose, opening the swollen airway, helping her breathe a little better, but she can still feel the pulsating throb with each beat of her heart. She knows Deeks' side can't feel much better.

He had busted a stitch when Barnett drove his knee into Deeks' abdomen. The clear, blood tinged liquid that soaked his shirt had been a sign of infection, explaining Deeks' fever, swelling, and pain he tried to hide. He's got a few more bruises now, thanks to body slamming the coffee table and having his face used as a punching bag, but all in all, it's nothing he won't get over. Like he had said, he's had worse.

Kensi rolls her neck along her shoulders, relishing the painful 'pop' of vertebrae. "I think Sam went to go get you something to eat," she tells him, "Callen went along to make sure it's something you'd want."

Deeks laughs, the medicine in his system stopping the act from causing him any pain. "And they act like they don't care," he says as he pushes himself up in the bed. Kensi watches, waiting to see if he'll need her help. When it appears as though he's got it under control, that he isn't about to collapse in a big ball of hurt, she relaxes, pulling the small table towards her.

"What is that?" Deeks asks after a few moments of silence, gesturing to the small puzzle book she's studying. Kensi answers slowly as she crosses out six down.

"A crossword puzzle." She smiles when he strains his neck, trying to get a good look. "What's a five letter word for 'ignoramus'?" she asks, scooting her chair closer, using the edge of the bed as a table, her elbow resting near his hip.

Deeks looks at the puzzle. "Idiot?" he guesses, sounding somewhat pleased with himself.

"I was thinking 'Deeks'," Kensi jokes, pretending to fill in the small squares.

"I think 'Kensi' would be a better fit," Deeks tells her, not missing a beat.

Kensi just arches an eyebrow, lifting her head and adopting a look of false pretentiousness. "Agree to disagree."

"Like always," Deeks tells her. His smile is lazy, a product of contentment and good drugs. "Like apples and potatoes."

"I think you mean apples and oranges," Kensi corrects. She leans more onto the bed, her shoulder barely touching his wounded side as she continues to study the puzzle. "Not apples and potatoes."

"No, apples and oranges are both fruit," Deeks explains, "We're a little more different than that."

Kensi looks up from her puzzle, searching his face to see whether or not that 'difference' is a good thing or bad. "So we're like fruits and vegetables. You think we're _that_ different?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, lazy smile still in place, his eyes studying the corners of the room with inebriated interest. "Still food, just different parts of the grocery store."

"You've lost your mind," Kensi tells him, her attention going back to the crossword.

"For the record, I like potatoes," Deeks says, leaning in to look at the next clue in the puzzle—eleven across: returning to strict tempo.

"That one's 'a battuta'." He points to the clue, pulling his IV as he does so. Kensi looks up, still trying to process the whole "I like potatoes" line. Glassy eyes look at her, confused as to why she isn't writing it down. "It's from music," he explains, his arms rising, moving as though he's playing a violin. "Italian."

Kensi nods, showing she's impressed as she writes it in before marking out eleven across. They continue like that, her reading the clue, the two of them brainstorming, trying to beat the other to figuring it out first.

"All right, thirty-nine down," she begins, studying the small print, "An eight letter word for 'Family'."

"Partners," Deeks says almost immediately. Kensi stops her pen from writing the word 'relative', surprised at Deeks' quick and resolute answer. He's given up on supporting his head, letting it rest heavily on the pillows, his eyes closed though he's still awake.

Kensi waits just a moment more before writing 'partners', despite the fact the letters are wrong. The last three days have been a hurricane of emotions. Worry, fear, anger. She hadn't been able to relax, she hadn't been in control. The drive from the boatshed to the beach house had been the longest of her life, each failed phone call driving a spear into her stomach, twisting with worry.

Seeing the lights off, Agent Sorenson lying unresponsive on the porch, she thought they had been too late.

Now, sitting beside a drugged Deeks, listening to him equate the word Family with Partner, she feels more emotions. Those she's not quite ready to deal with, but too stubborn to ignore.

Readjusting the pen in her hand, she continues on. "Forty-two down…"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Eric punches in the code, watching as the metal spiral starts to spin, stopping just short of dropping the bag of chips. "Oh, come on," Eric mutters, leaning his head against the grimy glass of the vending machine, pounding the side with his fist.

He's just finished talking with Sarah Sorenson, Agent Sorenson's wife. Someone had told her what happened, explained that Eric had been the one to end Chase Barnett's life, the man responsible for her husband's serious condition. She had wanted to thank him, compliment him on his bravery, on a job well done.

As he pushes away from the machine, he realizes it's probably a good thing the chips got stuck—he isn't sure he can keep anything down at the moment.

He hadn't wanted to speak with Sarah Sorenson, he isn't ready to deal with the fact that he had killed a man—mostly because he doesn't know how. As he walks through the waiting room, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the linoleum, he thinks back to the beach house, trying to see if there was anything he could have done differently.

Eric knows there's a reason Hetty doesn't ask him to go into the field very often, and he's okay with that. He's fully aware he's less than useless when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. Odds are, if it isn't featured on a video game, he can't name most of the weapons the others train in using. Up until two days ago, he had never even fired a real gun.

Barnett had had a gun; it's the only reason Eric had allowed the man to wire a bomb around his chest. He can't help thinking had anyone else been in his situation, they never would have let it get that far.

He finds his way to a men's room, thankfully completely empty at four in the morning. He leans against the counter, studying his face in the mirror. He studies the four days worth of growth along his jaw, the neglected stubble, the reddish outline covering one side of his face, trailing down beneath his collar. His mind keeps conjuring the image of a silencer pointing at his head, the sound of Deeks' scream as Chase used his injury against him.

Maybe if he hadn't been so frozen in fear, Eric could have done something else. "Stupid idiot," he mutters dropping his head into his hands, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Who're you talking about?"

Eric turns quickly, his eyes wide, his mouth opened in a surprised 'o'. Nell's standing by the door, her hands folded before her. She's rocking lightly on her heels, her mouth pressed into an embarrassed line, a sign that she isn't entirely comfortable with her actions.

"Nell, this is a men's room," Eric manages to say when his heart finally slows down, his voice shaking with resonant nerves.

"Yeah, the um, the urinals kind of give it away," Nell smiles, pointing to the far wall, four urinals lined in a neat row.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Eric says quietly, a little unnerved by her presence, unclear on why she's followed him.

"Because it's a men's room?" she asks, tilting her head questioningly.

"And you're not a man," Eric confirms, swallowing nervously as she takes a step towards him, nodding as though she agrees.

"No, I am not," she says, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. "But I am a friend, and I think you might need one." She takes the last few steps needed to bring them side-by-side. As she leans against the bathroom counter, random drops of water from the sink soaking into the back of her clothes as she studies her feet, she tries to think of the best way to organize her thoughts.

"I'm okay," he tells her in a hushed whisper.

"So I've heard." She can see the muscle in his cheek twitch, his jaw clenching as he fights against the tell-tale burning in his eyes, an errant sniffle giving him away as he hurriedly wipes at his running nose.

"Eric, I'm not gonna tell you that you did the right thing, because I know you've already heard it and hearing it again won't change how you feel. Honestly, I don't know if anything anyone says will change how you feel, but…just know that if you hadn't done what you did, a lot of good people would be dead right now." She waits, wanting him to look at her. When he continues to study the gritty floor, doing his best not to meet her eyes, she continues.

"Chase would have shot Deeks, then he would have shot you and Agent Sorenson. And when Callen and Sam, Kensi, and Agent Ryker showed up, he would have detonated that bomb and they'd all be dead too. It's okay to feel bad for what happened, and you may hate the fact that you had to do it. That's what makes you _you."_

In an act that surprises them both, Nell pushes off the counter, wrapping her arms around Eric's middle, securing his own arms in place. "You are a good person Eric Beale, and we will get through this."

As soon as his mind begins to recover from the shock of her impromptu embrace, Eric awkwardly brings his trapped arms up as far as they will go, returning her hug. "We?"

"Friends have to stick together," she mutters into his shirt. She turns her head, looking him in the face, "Besides, you're delusional if you think Hetty and the others are gonna leave you to sort this all out on your own."

Eric snorts a mildly sardonic laugh. "I kind of wish they would."

Nell takes a step back, removing her arms as she sets her hand on his shoulder. "Eric, they're the best people to help you get through this. They've all been where you are now. Every one of them."

Eric closes his eyes, nodding as he recognizes the truth in her words. "I know," he says, wiping the wetness from his eyes, "It's just that talking about it, means that I'd have to…well, talk about it."

"You don't say," Nell says, unsuccessfully trying to bite back a smile.

Eric laughs, though he isn't sure if it's at the situation or himself. "Told you I was a stupid idiot."

"You're not a stupid idiot," she tells him. "You're…just at the end of the first comic book."

Eric's smile fades in confusion. "Come again?"

"You know," Nell raises her hands, absently trying to pull thoughts out of the air, encouraging him to catch on as she struggles to explain. "The first issue always sets up the back story, the daring-do that causes our super hero to commit to a life of crime-fighting. Something bad always happens, the hero struggles with it, and then moves on to continue to save the day. This is that part."

Eric purses his lips as he considers her analogy. "I really don't see me going out and kicking bad guy butt. I prefer to sit back and control the gadgets."

"Tony Stark uses gadgets," Nell points out, happy to see Eric playing along, "So does Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah, see Deeks and I have kinda already established I'm like the Alfred to their Batman. I'm good with that. Besides, our Bat Cave is kinda kick-ass," he tells her with a smile.

Nell begins walking to the door, Eric following close behind. "Yeah, Hetty does buy all the best toys." She pulls the door open, gesturing for him to go first. "Come on, Beale, I think I heard a rumor about Sam and Callen getting us some grub."

As Eric walks out the door, he turns back around, a curious smirk on his face. "You really think I'm like Iron Man?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"It's called flirting," Sam insists as they wait for the elevator to reach their floor. Callen shakes his head, a disbelieving smile playing out on his lips.

"It's not flirting," he denies, readjusting the many pizza boxes in his arms. "It's called being nice. Maybe leaning a little towards a bribe, but definitely not flirting."

"Did you even pay attention in school? What you're planning on doing, that's flirting, G. Look it up."

"Oh Sam, when are you ever going to learn?" Callen chuckles, his eyes watching the digital display above the doors change with each floor they slowly pass. "Patronizing me is a wasted effort."

Sam clicks his tongue in disapproval. He adjusts his shoulders, repositions the bag of drinks in his hand. "It wouldn't be if you'd learn from your mistakes. George Santiago once said, 'Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.' It's sound advice, G."

"Why will I be _doomed_ for giving pizza to the nurses?" Callen challenges, turning to look at his smirking partner.

Sam holds up one finger, his dimple forming with his crooked grin. "One word. Liz."

Callen faces forward again, shaking his head. "Liz doesn't count. That was a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding that all started over flirting," Sam points out, clearly happy with his reasoning.

"I _highly_ doubt any of the nurses' husbands are going to hire a hit man because I gave their wives pizza. Besides, this isn't flirting. I already told you," Callen whispers, scooting to the corner as a pair of elderly women step into the elevator, "It's kind of like a bribe. Plus, it never hurts to be nice."

"Why do we need to bribe the nurses?" Sam whispers back, smiling and dipping his head in polite greeting when one of the women turns to look at him suspiciously.

"Because I'm almost certain four in the morning isn't normal visiting hours, we have no official reason for being here, and they haven't complained about all of us piling into Deeks' room," Callen explains.

"So you're honestly telling me that this is not in any way a ploy to get the head nurse's number?" Sam quirks an eyebrow, not believing Callen's seemingly selfless act of kindness.

"No," Callen promises. "She already gave it to me," he whispers with a smile, pushing his way through the elevator doors as they open to their floor. "Didn't even have to ask."

Sam just laughs as he follows behind. They fall into step as they walk down the long hallway, the smell of pepperoni and sausage leaving a trail behind them.

"You talk to Eric yet?" Callen asks casually as they press against the hall, allowing a pair of orderlies with a gurney to pass.

"Yep, you?" Sam replies, already knowing the answer.

"Uh huh. Told me he was fine." Sam can hear the disbelief in Callen's voice as the nurse's station comes into view.

"Don't worry about him, he'll be okay," Sam reassures him, his own worries for Eric playing out in his mind. They had all spoken to him after the beach house, both about the bomb and the shooting. He had sworn he was fine, a little shaken up, but fine none-the-less. No one believed him.

"Eric's the last person on the planet I'd ever think would be in that situation," Callen says, breaking into a believing smile at one of the night nurses who's just noticed their arrival, her eyes on the pizza. "He's not cut out for it. We shouldn't have left him alone."

"He wasn't alone," Sam corrects, "but it doesn't matter. He did what he had to and came out on top. Give him time, G. The guy's stronger than he looks."

"A hell of a lot stronger than we give him credit for," Callen concedes. He brightens his smile as he sits the pizza boxes on the counter, careful not to knock over the stack of files or bottle of hand sanitizer.

"Agent Callen, back so soon." A pretty redhead with bright blue eyes looks up from her magazine. "I thought we wouldn't get to see you again until tomorrow, you know, _during visiting hours_." She puts emphasis on the last part, but her tone is void of any malice.

"Don't listen to her," a young brunette interjects as she peeks beneath the lid of the pizza box. "Supreme?" she asks, smiling playfully.

"With extra olives," Callen confirms, flipping the lid and sharing a look with his partner that Sam will later describe as being 'smart-ass'.

As three more nurses swarm the station, each vying for a piece of pizza, Sam jerks his head down the hall, indicating the room on the far left. "He wake up any?"

"Oh yeah," the brunette says, stuffing a mushroom in her mouth. "He's been up. A little loopy, but that's to be expected."

"They're all piled in there doing word puzzles," the redhead informs them, winking at Callen as he and Sam turn to leave.

"What?" Callen asks when he sees Sam shaking his head.

"_That_ was flirting," Sam tells him, pointing towards the nurse's station with his thumb.

Callen shrugs not bothering to deny it. "She's not married."

Sam stops short of opening the door to Deeks' room. "That's not the point."

Callen frowns, turning questioningly towards Sam. "Do you even _have_ a point?"

"Only that you're asking for trouble." Sam pushes the door open, "I'd leave the nurses to Deeks if I were you."

"What about nurses?" Deeks asks as Sam and Callen walk in.

"Nothing that concerns you," Callen jokes, placing the last two boxes of pizza on the table.

"I'm almost certain I heard my name," Deeks continues, looking to Eric for support. "They said my name, right?"

Callen and Sam both look at Eric, waiting to see whose side he'll take. Eric smiles nervously, reaching for the first slice of pizza and shrugging apologetically at a drunkenly confused Deeks.

Kensi and Nell hide their smiles behind the offered drinks Sam begins to pass out.

"The nurses said you're all doing puzzles?" Sam asks, handing the last Coke to Eric.

"_Were_," Deeks corrects, "It's not really any fun when you've got these two helping you out." He gestures between Nell and Eric accusingly.

"You were reading the clues out loud," Eric defends, the loud pop and fizz of the soda can filling the room.

"Yeah, but you could at least give us a chance to figure it out first," Deeks tells him, the tiredness in his voice only making him sound half-sincere.

"Hetty not back yet?" Callen asks Kensi, ignoring the banter playing out between Deeks and Eric.

Kensi shakes her head, cutting her eyes to look at her partner. "Not yet. Where do you think she went?"

"Probably to sort out this mess. Tomorrow's gonna suck." Callen takes a slice for himself, easing into one of the plastic chairs. "It's gonna be awhile before we bounce back from this one."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Hetty puts the phone in her pocket, her eyes closing as she calms her frustration after having spoken with the director, giving him a full account of everything that's happened since last they spoke.

The case is over, at least for the most part. There's still a great deal of work to do before they can work on putting the last few days behind them.

In the morning, units will go to each of the team's houses to search for and remove any recording devices. Each of them will have to give a statement, including Eric and Deeks. Everyone who works in her office will be subjected to another scrutinizing background check, updated polygraphs. All the cases that Chase Barnett assisted on or had access to will have to be examined.

For over six months, someone they saw almost everyday worked to plan their demise, scheming to bring about the most fear and pain. They hadn't seen it until it was almost too late.

When all the paperwork's done, and all the bugs and kinks sorted out, her team will still have to deal with everything. They all have to accept the fact that they aren't impenetrable, that they are all capable of being bested.

As Hetty nears the open door, sounds of familiar laughter drifting towards her, she realizes they've already started.

She looks at the men and women sitting around the hospital bed, she takes in the bruises and abrasions, the burns and tired eyes.

"Hey, Hetty. We saved you some pizza," Eric tells her, smiling a true smile.

Tomorrow they will sort through the mess that somehow managed to infiltrate their lives, but today they can rest. They've more than earned it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

THE END


End file.
